I Remember
by datbenik513
Summary: Voldemort is stronger than ever and launches the final offensive to conquer Great Britain. The resistance is massacred and a new era of terror begins. All these years, the last remaining spark of resistance was smoldering before a new flame was born.
1. Chapter 1

Another night was dying away in the Scottish Highlands as the waning Moon ended her path above the hills and forests, relentlessly driven out of this world by the rising Sun, as the divine powers willed it in the beginning of the world.

Together with the night were dying the nightly shadows; the hunters and the hunted were returning to their holes and nests, some after a successful hunt, some with an empty stomach, some simply happy to have survived yet another night full of dangers. The eerie howls of the werewolf pack in the depths of the Forbidden Forest were gone, as was the high-pitch chirping of the bats, and the forest was filled with different music as the first mockingbird awoke and welcomed the dawning of a new day.

The golden fingers of Helios, at first, gently caressed the narrow valleys, embroidering them with golden thread, then, as the celestial orb rose higher and higher, its rays reached the eternal hillsides, were reflected back into the sky by the crystal clear waters of the countless lochs and found their way into the very depths of the centuries-old forests of the Scottish countryside. The trees turned their leaves, the flowers their petals towards the Sun and the air filled with the rejoicing morning chorus of the awakening fauna.

Helios was smiling, enjoying his imminent powers, as he reclaimed his domain from the darkness and spread his healing warmth onto Gaia, his divine sister's body. Then, something else caught his attention and he stopped dead in his track, curiously eyeing the scenery spreading beneath him.

On top of a small hill stood the remains of a building what until yesterday was a magnificent castle. Defying history, wars and elements for almost a millennium, it has been ruined now beyond recognition. What once was the home for the cream of the wizarding population of Britain, widely known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, now was a pile of rubble, marble, stone and timber and only the remnants of what had been the Astronomy tower once stood there as an accusing finger, a memento of the horrible events that took place earlier that night. Where once the laughter and cheering of young witches and wizards was heard, now were only a few fires still smouldering among the rubble; fire set ablaze by man, by evil, fire that cannot be put out until it consumes itself.

Last night a battle took place, a battle which would go into history books later, after many years, as the "Battle of Hogwarts and the Third Rise of Voldemort". Hundreds of students from all four Houses, their friends and families, hundreds of former students, teachers, and those who simply possessed magic stood here as one, driven by a common will, to defend this last bastion of freedom against Voldemort, the horde of his followers and countless dark creatures he'd won over to his side. Having slowly gained control over the whole of Great Britain, Hogwarts ws the last dangerous enemy he had to eliminate in order to break down the remnants of the resistance against his regime, the regime built on his ideals of blood purity, before he could justly call himself the ruler of the country.

The castle was protected by old, forgotten magic, magic that was already ancient at the time when it was built by two powerful wizards and two equally powerful witches, the Founders. The defenders added multiple lines of their protection around the grounds from all possible forms of attacks and in the beginning the wards were holding out. Were it not for a small breach along the southwest corner, where in ancient times a slightly overdone wizarding duel had made the ground magic-free in a circumference of 30 feet, the castle would stand. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, however, the breach had been discovered, and from that moment on everything was lost.

Driven ahead by the sheer madness of Tom Riddle, the Death Eaters and their pet creatures stormed the castle and killed everybody on their way. Vampires, partially transformed werewolves feasted on the bodies of the defenders – it wasn't full moon, but the potion they had been administered brought out their feral instincts – and green rays of lights – Killing Curses – struck countless victims. Hogwarts, however, defended itself bravely. For each fallen student five attackers were killed and their lines seemed to diminish, but somehow they managed to separate the biggest and fiercest resistance group from the others and drive them into the Great Hall, from where there was no escape. When the roaring flames of Fiendfyre consumed them, the rest was quickly rounded up and then there was grave silence on the grounds. There was no victorious rejoicing, no moaning of the wounded, no crying over the fallen heroes.

This same night Voldemort and his followers, leaving a bloody trail behind, marched towards London. No Portkeys or Apparition this time; Voldemort opened a direct portal, sacrificing the magic of a half dozen Death Eaters, leaving them as useless Squibs behind. The merciless, dark army took the capital and the House of Parliament with almost no resistance, save the few Aurors disguised as security, and at 5 am the Queen, suddenly looking 20 years older, her eyes glassy and hands shaking, addressed the nation in a radio and TV speech stating she was dismissing the Government and forming a new one, and then stepping down from the throne. A new, dark era dawned on Britain an hour ago, an era ruled by fear and discrimination, by terror and murder, in which freedom existed no more.

On and around the Hogwarts grounds, overall lay scattered, mingled bodies. Bodies with no physical damage – victims of Killing Curses, bodies trampled by giants, drained dry by vampires, torn into pieces by werewolves, bodies frozen in that last spasm of pain as Acromantula venom slowly ate them away. Apart from having collected all wands, however, Voldemort ordered not to touch the bodies, but let them there as a horrible sign, a warning to those still contemplating resistance.

Helios, deeply shocked by this display of evil that men do turned his face away from the bloodshed in pain. He hid himself, awestruck, behind a thick, gray cloud of smoke and mist and cried. He cried as he saw the broken bodies of those strong young men, blossoming young women lying there, bloodied, desecrated, torn, their glassy eyes accusingly pointing to the heavens and Gaia cried with him. In his anger and grief he sent lightnings onto the battered Earth and thunder shook the skies.

The sudden rain – their tears – washed away the soot and blood and it slowly soaked into the thirsty ground, completing the cycle of life. New life was being born on the remains of a taken life. The smell of decay, however, lingered there, above the battleground, the sweet smell of blood and the dreadful stench of burnt, torn flesh, and it drew the attention of the first scavengers coming forth from the depths of the Forest, licking their lips in anticipation of the feast.

Two ever-hungry wolves came out of the trees, their nostrils sharply drawing in the crisp air full of delicious smells, and slowly trotted towards the remains of the castle. The she-wolf stopped at a corpse, still warm and slowly licked the clotted blood from the huge gashing wound on its forehead. Out of nowhere came a flash of green light and the wolf dropped dead the same instant. Her mate sniffed at her, poked at her with his nose as if nudging her to stop playing and get up. His brain, however, soon understood she would never get up again and the majestic animal, suddenly frightened, rushed back to the relatively safe depths of the wood, howling his pain to Heavens.

A lone figure, wearing a long, black hooded travel cloak reached the clearing, coming from another part of the forest. Stopping dead in his track, his eyes quickly scanned the site of the massacre. Then the figure slowly removed his hood. The young women sadly shook her head, sending her waist-long, silvery hair flying into the air and tried to fight back her tears which attacked and overwhelmed her. Falling on her knees, she covered her angelic face with her hands and broke out into hysteric sobs.

"_Mon Dieu!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody knows how long the young witch was kneeling on the ground while the rain was relentlessly soaking her to the very skin. At a certain point her tears dried out, her voice failed her, so she was just sitting there, shaking with silent sobs.

Helios watched her sympathetically for a while, then took pity on her and reached out with a golden finger, caressing her face with a feather-light touch of a sunray. She turned her tear-stained face to the heavens and acknowledged the warm sunshine with a wry smile. Taking a deep breath, she stood and looked around, not really sure of what she was going to do next.

The first body she came across was that of a Death Eater; the eerie tattoo depicting a snake protruding from the eye-hole of a skull was still clearly visible on the left forearm of the young man. She cursed out loud and pointed her wand at the corpse, murmuring an incantation in a strange language which caused the body to incinerate and turn to ashes in a mere few minutes.

She pulled a quill and a piece of parchment from underneath her robe and directed her wand at the quill.

"_Enunta mihi, quid es!" _she pronounced clearly and resumed her pace, the quill and the parchment floating nearby. As she made her way though the clearing, she came across more and more bodies, scattered on the grass and one for one, she disposed of the Death Eathers' bodies the same way.

She recognized more and more faces from the times of her first Hogwarts visit; when she pointed her wand at the bodies, the quill scraped another name on the parchment. Suddenly, with a shriek, she recognized the handsome face belonging to Terry Boot among the dead. She didn't even have to instruct the quill, which, however, indifferently scraped down the name on the bottom of the ever-growing list of casualties.

Pale, bloodless, the boy lay there peacefully, his once vivid blue, now glassy eyes staring into the skies. The two tiny, swollen puncture wounds on his neck - the same spot she was once trailing with her soft, wet lips causing him to moan softly and shiver with excitement – told her that Terry had been attacked by a vampire. She sat down besides him in the dirt and pulled his head into her lap. Slowly, gently caressing his hair, she closed her eyes, recalling the night of the Yule Ball, only three years ago, a night she would never forget, and silently mourning this handsome young man, her first real love.

_It was a beautiful December morning. The sun was shining brightly through the tall, richly decorated windows of the Great Hall and even the ceiling was enchanted to let the sunshine through. The Hogwarts hosts and the guest students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were having their breakfast. She was sitting at her usual spot at the Ravenclaw table, engaged in a conversation in rapid French with two other Beauxbaton seventh-years, her best friends, when she felt somebody's presence behind her back. _

_She turned around and smiled at the boy behind him. "Hi, Terry," she greeted him, waiting patiently. The boy flushed red and opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't; he just stood there, marvelling her beauty with his mouth agape. Her two friends started giggling, but she cast a disapproving glance at them._

"_Can I do something for you?" she repeated, looking into his deep blue eyes. The boy gulped once, then finally found his courage, although, she could clearly feel, he was extremely nervous._

"_I wonder..." he started in a hoarse voice, and the whole Ravenclaw table drew closer to be able to catch his voice, "I wonder, Ms. Delacour, if you already have a date for the Yule ball." _

_A collective "Ahhhh" was heard and the other three houses all raised their heads, curious about what was to follow. Fleur, however, looked approvingly at the boy and shook her gorgeous hair._

"_No, Mr. Boot," she laughed, "I haven't got a date yet. However, my name is **Fleur** and I do like my name, so I'd rather you call me Fleur as well, **Terry**." She shushed her friends again, an expectantly looked into his honest face again._

"_In that case, Fleur, I would consider it a great honour if you'd allow me to accompany you to the Ball," the boy blurted out, flushing even redder, but seemingly relieved._

_Fleur stood and took the boy's hand, eliciting a small shock from him. "In that case, Terry, I would consider it a great honour if you'd accompany me to the Ball," she answered simply, giving a short peck on the boy's face. She felt, rather sensed that his heart skipped a beat or two and reassuringly squeezed the hand she was still holding._

_Terry drew a sharp breath and smiled at the beautiful young girl. "Thank you, Fleur. You've made me really happy." Collecting all his courage, he quickly kissed her back on her face, causing the Great Hall to bust out in loud cheering, then fled the hall._

"_What?" Fleur snapped irritatedly, turning back to her friends."He IS a nice guy, besides, he's the best in his year. You'd better start looking for your own dates in case you don't want to turn into a wall flower." Not that that was a real danger, she smirked. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were popular and had made quite a number of friends very soon after their arrival; the Hogwarts students were queuing up for them. Fleur, however, was different; she naturally attracted males due to her Veela origins, which, for one, she started to hate. Terry was the first boy being attracted to her and not to her Veela nature and Fleur really did appreciate this._

_Before leaving the sunny France, the seventh-years had made a bet which of them would be bedded first and quite surprisingly Fleur didn't win. Halfway through the ball she was thoroughly enjoying, after a few dances with Terry she danced with other Hogwarts students as well. When the Wicked Sisters switched to a slow song, however, she was pleasantly surprised to see Terry thanking his last partner for the dance and making his way towards her and now it was** her **heart that skipped a beat. Politely rejecting a handsome sevent-year Slytherin, she met Terry halfway the Hall and snuggled into his firm hands, resting her head on his shoulder. They slowly moved around the dance floor, gently swaying at the rhythm of the music, holding each other tight, oblivious to anything and anybody else. When she, halfway the song, looked up into his beautiful eyes, her stomach fluttered and her knees went weak; she captured the boy's lips with hers without thinking, almost causing him a heart infarct. When he felt her soft, warm, moist tongue seeking entrance, however, he lost all inhibitions and eagerly granted admittance. Their tongues fought a fierce battle, their chests rising heavily;they didn't even realize that the slow song has ended and everybody around them was jumping around to a fast-paced song._

_When they finally broke apart, flushed, out of breath, they looked into each others' eyes and started to speak. _

"_I..."_

"_I..." _

_They smiled at each other, overwhelmed by the lingering magic of the moment. Then Terry, reluctantly, let go of her, took her hand and took off, pulling her away from the crowd, trying to keep this small universe of theirs unscathed for a moment longer._

_Unseen by the patrolling Professors, they entered an empty classroom and Terry flicked his wand, closing the door and applying an Imperturbable charm on it. Still breathing heavily, the two hungrily eyed each other. Then she caught his lips again in a fierce kiss, while her hands started working on his dress robe. With his trembling hands, Terry finally managed to pull down the flyer on her back and the magnificent dress, unsupported, fell around her ankles, revealing her magnificent body covered in nothing but a lacy knicker underneath. Their lips not parting for a second, they relieved each other from the last remaining pieces of garment, then Terry turned themselves around, effectively pinning her to the wall._

_She pulled him even closer, wrapping her right leg around his waist and pressing herself against him. When he gently entered her, she moaned softly into his neck, delighted with the sensation. And then, there was nothing else, only the two of them, as time seemed to slow down and their ragged breaths came in unison with their heartbeats, until Heaven came down on Earth._

Breaking out of her reverie, Fleur wiped her eyes, sniffing loudly, and slowly stood up, gently laying Terry's head back on the ground. Closing his eyes, she kissed his cold, lifeless lips and murmured a few words of goodbye.

With her sharp senses, she felt the presence of the ancient wards around the castle which were still intact. Being married to a curse-breaker, her instincts told her not to tempt those wards, so she decided to walk around their perimeter, trying to find a way to get inside. A good ten minutes later, when the tingling in her scruff had subsided and she found herself at the magical dead zone – the breach in the wards - she found another victim of the massacre, someone very close to her heart, and her heart-breaking cry swept over the hillside once again.

"_Bill, mon cher mari!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Heavily breathing, Fleur pulled her wand again. Holding it in her trembling hand, she cast a few basic-level diagnostic spells, desperately looking for any small sign of life. The wand, however, emitted no green sparks, the body didn't glow the faint green color as she had expected; there was only a single red spark.

Throwing the useless wand away, Fleur frantically tried to find anything that would suggest her husband was still alive. She tried to feel his pulse, she listened to his breathing, she held a small toilet mirror against his lips in the hope that his escaping breath would condense on its surface. Only after a good half an hour did she see in the futility of all her attempts; it was only then that the irreversibility and the tragedy of what had happened started to sink in and the young woman with all the strength of her fragile body she could muster lifted off the limp body of her husband from the dirty ground, held it to herself, and cried as she never cried before.

Clinging on to the body of her dead husband, recalling all sweet memories that had connected them together, the young witch did not at once realize she was sitting in a pool of blood, gathering around Bill's body. Only later, when her tears dried out, did she suddenly feel she was sitting on something wet and understood in horror that this blood once belonged to him. Now she saw the two deep slashes running through his wrists and she kissed those once gentle, caring, now cold, bloodless hands, his pale fingers.

There was something she couldn't put together. Bill wouldn't commit suicide, not _her_ Bill. He wouldn't throw his life away just like that; he would fight – and most probably had fought – to the very end, for her, for them, for everything he had believed in. Yet, this was neither the time nor the place for philosophy, she understood that; moreover, she was sure that Voldemort's surviving men hadn't left the battleground for good and she was desperate in not letting them catch her, should they return while she was here.

Gently laying Bill back on to the ground, she kissed him on his lips and wished he'd come back to her just for one moment, to share a last, passionate kiss with her, before his soul would leave his Earthly body to go into the Shadowlands, on to his next great adventure from which there's no return. Then, determined, she stood and thought for a while.

"I'm not leaving you here, Bill," she whispered, very deep in her heart knowing that nobody would hear her, nobody would answer her. "I'm taking you home, sweetheart."

Her travel here, the amount magic she had been performing the last hour has seriously depleted her reserves, so Apparating with Bill back home, to relative safety, was out of question unless she fancied splinching herself in two. Frowning her brows, she was rummaging in her memories of Hogwarts in search of a place, secluded enough so that she wouldn't have to fear any unwanted visitors until she took a few hours' rest. Finally, she found one.

Holding on to Bill's hand, she closed her eyes, and the next moment their contours dissolved in thin air. No stepping, no turning on the heels, no wand movement. Veela Apparition, quick and clean, albeit suitable only for relatively short distances. A second later, Fleur and Bill materialized in the Shrieking Shack.

Having sneaked out one night, Fleur and Terry had had their own romantic farewell here, two days before returning to France after the Triwizard Tournament. The bed they'd transfigured into a huge four-poster, the picnic basket they'd left here were still intact, only a few empty Butterbeer and Firewhiskey bottles and – much to her disgust – a few used condoms were lying scattered on the floor. Someone must have perused their love nest, she thought.

Emitting a deep sigh, Fleur got rid of the litter with a flick of her wand and levitated Bill onto the bed, applying a Stasis charm on his body. Then she looked at her creased, dirty, bloodstained clothes, the travel robe she'd just taken off, her equally dirty hands and, disgusted, flicked her wand again, restoring her proper attire. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she shook her head and when she opened her eyes, her hair lay in an impeccable, tight ponytail.

A slight breeze was fluttering around in the room now, slightly dishevelling her hair again. Her control was slipping now and she was overwhelmed by her powers. Every time she was upset or pained, they tried to take her over and she exhaled sharply a few times, opening and closing her fists, trying to regain control over herself. Suddenly, a small fireball appeared on her right palm. Veela were the only magical beings capable of conjuring fire without a wand; all of them being Elemental beings, they could perfectly control fire.

With an annoyed huff, she threw the fireball into the fireplace, which came alive with a loud _whoosh! _The breeze, however, died off, as she regained complete control over herself and she let out a relieved sigh. Rummaging in her small rucksack, she fished out a sandwich. Sitting on the bed, she slowly, without appetite, ate it, fighting her tears back every time she looked at her Bill. Finishing off her meal with a bottle of water, she took off her boots and lay down on the bed, but not before she cast a few strong protective wards around the Shack, created a few illusions, fearful enough to scare any possible passers-by away and blinded the door and windows to keep out the light. Draping one arm protectively over her abdomen, the other one over Bill, she started speaking in a soft voice, a few times interrupted by her own, silent sobs.

"C'est ton papa, chérie, papa Bill. Il était une personne extraordinaire, très amicable, très joyeuse, très sympathique." Gently caressing her slightly swollen abdomen, she picked away a few stray tears. She had no more tears left to cry for him properly.

"Je n'avais pas les temps à dire Papa que tu viendrais. Il aurait voulu à être ici, avec nous, quand tu arriveras! Tu sais, Papa Bill non retournerait pas, rien, il était meurtri dans une homme très mauvais. Il me manque très beaucoup, chérie!"

Much to her surprise, tears came again as she mourned her husband, the father of her unborn child; to her it seemed she had been crying all day, but she knew she would be crying more for him, when the circumstances would allow. Their baby, the tiny creature inside her must have been upset as well, Fleur understood; she felt a sharp pain in her insides as the baby kicked her with her tiny legs.

Drawing a few deep breaths, she tried to regain her composure and replaced her hand on her abdomen, switching to an apologetic, soothing tone. She told her daughter about her father, how they had met, fallen in love, told about their wedding, that magical, wonderful night she'd been conceived under the palm trees on the beach. Gradually, she felt the baby calm down and fall asleep, but she went on talking to her, her voice barely above a whisper, until her exhaustion won and she herself fell in sleep, not caring that it wasn't even noon and the sun was brightly shining over Scotland.

"_Je t'aime, Bill,_" were her last words, before sleep, exhausted, dreamless sleep consumed her.

**A/N:**  
* "This is your Dad, darling, Daddy Bill. He was an extraordinary person, a very kind, very lovable, always happy one."

** "I didn't have the time to tell Papa that you would come. He would have wanted to be here, with us, when you arrive. You see, Papa Bill will never come back to us. He was murdered by a very bad man, darling, and I miss him so much!"

Apologies for my poor French. Should I find a French beta, I will edit this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Shortly after noon, the young witch woke from a restless, dreamless sleep. The last few hours she had spent thrashing around on the four-poster, haunted by nightmares. In her sleep she cried out names. Gabrielle, violated and murdered, just like everybody else at Beauxbatons a month ago when the Death Eaters had raided the school; their parents, killed when their ancestral home had been set ablaze while they were sleeping; Viktor, tortured to death by his own schoolmates when he refused to take the mark, and now Bill, her husband, the father of their unborn child. She relived each and every death, each and every moment of horror, and only a short while ago, completely worn off and exhausted by her torments, did she manage to doze off, giving her body and mind some well-deserved peace.

She sat up straight on the bed, at first completely unaware of where she was and what she was doing. She could feel her clothes and the bedlinen soaked with her own sweat; she squeamishly grimaced at the thought how she must be smelling right now. The thought of having just lost her beloved husband, however, suddenly made all her earthly problems look minuscule and she knew it would take a very long time before she could properly accept the fact that from now on she would have to walk the Earth all alone, without his handsome face, caring hands, gentle lips, the heart that had loved her so much.

With an unearthly smile on her beautiful face, she watched Bill, gently caressing his hair, his badly scarred face, as she was singing an ancient French song in her melodic voice, a sad song about two lovers that had been forced to part at the command of the king who fell in love with the girl.

Suddenly, a few well-aimed kicks at her intestines signalled her that her daughter was wide awake, and, as if conspiring against her, her stomach grumbled at the same time. Reluctantly letting go of Bill's hand and climbing off the bed, she produced her last sandwich from her rugsack and turned it around in her hand a few times. Frowning her brows, she contemplated her chances of getting any decent meal any time soon and went through her possible options.

First of all, she could try and get some food in Hogsmeade which was abandoned, now that all of the inhabitants lay dead on the battlefield. Fighting a short mental battle with herself whether or not it would be considered theft, she decided to nominate this as a reserve option.

She could have gone to the castle and visit the kitchens; one night she and Terry had sneaked there, consuming the entire profiterole stock of the elves, licking the cream and molten chocolate off each others fingers, faces and other body parts. Shrugging, she cast this idea away. She didn't know what would await her in the castle and she decided to put off this visit as long as possible.

Duplicating the sandwich using a Protean charm was not an option; being a highly complex one, it wasn't taught at Beauxbatons and the only person she knew of capable of performing it was Hermione Granger. She could try transfiguring the sandwich into something bigger and she was eager to try this option.

Pulling her wand, she murmured the incantation, but to her greatest dismay nothing had happened. Nothing, save the new colour of the bread, a rather vivid blue one. Thoroughly annoyed, she stamped with her foot on the floor and muttered "_Finite"_ to reverse the incantation, but on contrary to her expectations the bread remained blue.

"_Merde!_" she cursed out loud, something she always refrained from doing, then flushed red and involuntarily looked around herself. Only then had she realized she was all alone and nobody had heard her.

"_Merde, merde, MERDE!_" she cried out again, her voice rising hysterically, her powers getting out of control for the second time today. Forcing herself to breathe in deep, she waited until the trembling in her legs had subsided to a bearable level and walked up to the fireplace. The fire – induced by her Veela powers – was still burning and she decided to make some tea. She conjured a small pot and filled it with water using a simple "Aguamenti" charm, then fished out a teabag from her sack; being married to an Englishman she took over a few English customs, although she still preferred her croissants-et-cafe breakfasts.

While the tea was brewing, she wrapped half of her sandwich back, leaving only one of the disgusting blue bread slices on the table. With a wry grimace she bit off a small piece ans started cautiously chewing, ready to spit it out any moment. But the bread tasted only bread, so she ate the whole slice, then, conjuring a mug, she filled it with tea and sat back onto the bed. Slowly sipping the hot drink, she gently cradled her stomach; feeling the soothing presence of her mother's warm hands, the baby calmed down and went back to sleep.

Having finished her tea, Fleur summoned the parchment with the names and quickly rushed through the long list. She had found the bodies of the professors McGonagall, Slughorn and Flitwick not far from Bill; being the most powerful wizards at Hogwarts, they must have been trying to patch up the breach in the wards when they had been overrun by the attackers' hordes.

Curiously, she hadn't found any other Weasleys in the list, nor had she seen Harry, Hermione or the Lovegood girl, which gave her a faint hope that they might have survived the battle and were hiding somewhere out there. She knew she had to make sure, she had to find them, dead or alive, before she would take her husband home.

Standing up in one deliberate movement, she summoned her powers and put out the fire, then packed her scarce belongings and put on her travel robe. Casting a last, longing glance at her husband, she closed the door behind herself. With a few effective wand movements, she reinforced the wards around the Shack; human wards interwoven with Veela magic and she smirked inwardly. Any visitor attempting to get closer than five feet would be welcomed with some rather nasty surprises before his body was reduced to a small, neat pile of ash. In the hope that any of her Hogwarts friends managed to survive, she keyed their names into the wards, should they seek refuge here; she knew this place was holding a rather sentimental place in Harry's heart.

Somewhat refreshed by her miserable parody of a lunch, she decided to check on the castle and returned to the spot she'd found Bill. With her highly developed senses she could easily identify the exact location of the breach in the wards and, hesitating only the tiniest bit, she stepped inside.

All of a sudden, the noises of the forest, the singing of the birds died down, the sunshine became paler; she could feel a warning, tingling sensation in her neck, the living proof the wards were still very much in place. Driven by sheer curiosity, she picked up a small twig from the ground and threw it randomly where she thought the borderline of the wards would be. She flinched only a little when her ears captured a sudden, loud humming and saw the twig being incinerated and turned into a few molecules of ash; she shivered involuntarily imagining what these wards would do to a living being.

Picking up her pace again, she moved towards the entrance. The nearer she drew, the stronger she could feel a horrible stench, the smell of something burned, the smell of a fire that had been roaring here destroying everything on its way not so long ago. Her enchanted quill emotionlessly noted the names of the defenders whose bodies she had come across on her way.

"_Sinead Finnigan_" Looking at the redheaded girl's tiny body, Fleur wouldn't have given her more than twelve years. Then she realized she must have been Seamus' little sister he had been so proud and protective about and sadly shook her head to get rid of the knob in her throat. Gently arranging the girl into a more natural position, she closed Sinead's eyes and moved on.

"_Pansy Parkinson_" The name was faintly familiar and she tried to remember who Pansy could have been. _Wait a second, wasn't she in Slytherin? Good God, they're murdering their own now!_ Driven by momentary curiosity, she checked the girl's forearm and was only slightly surprised by not finding the Mark on her pale skin.

The steps before the entrance were scattered with bodies. A fierce fight had been going on here, she concluded; the defenders of the castle were determined to hold ground even being hugely outnumbered.

Sitting in an unnatural position against the castle wall, their glassy eyes accusingly staring at the intruder, were Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley.

The startled Fleur, at first, checked Draco's forearm and when she found the Mark, she wanted to dispose of the body as she did with the bodies of the other Death Eaters. The very last second, however, before pronouncing the last word of the incantation, something came up in her mind and she broke off, muttering a quick "_Finite_". Something was just not right about the situation. They didn't seem to have died fighting each other, rather like they'd died fighting side by side, against a common enemy.

Kneeling at Ron, she held his rigid body to herself, resting her forehead against his shoulder and mourned him, letting her tears flow abundantly. The always hungry, always funny, sometimes insensitive boy, her youngest brother-in-law now lay here lifeless, another victim of the horrible battle, another young life broken. She closed her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see his eyes asking the silent question "Why me? Why us?" when a sudden feeling hit her with the force of a steam locomotive.

_Barely blocking a Reducto, Draco ducked on the ground, sending a golden jet of light into the vampire approaching the seemingly easy prey. He nodded satisfied, seeing the undead turn into a small heap of grey ash. Then he saw a shadow with bushy, brown hair reach out with a small hand and pull him up._

"_Granger, what are you doing here?" he asked, not believing her eyes, quickly letting go of her hand._

"_You are very welcome, Malfoy," spat the girl back, spinning around and casting an "Imperio" at the Death Eater who had just attacked Draco. She directed his wand against a small group of Death Eaters trying to catch them between two fires and soon two more attackers went down at his two Killing Curses before a green jet slammed into his chest._

"_Cease fire!" The commanding voice, enhanced by a "Sonorus" charm startled the fighters at both sides. "I said 'Hold it!' Rodolphus! My own son is there!" The owner of the voice pointed his wand at one of his cronies and the other man, unwillingly, lowered his wand as well._

"_Your own son is a traitor fighting on their side, Malfoy!" he spat back with venom._

"_I will make that out myself, thank you very much," filtered Lucius Malfoy the words slowly through his teeth. With a slow, yet clearly visible movement he pocketed his wand and made two steps towards the small group of defenders._

"_That will be nasty..." muttered Draco under his breath to the others. Turning around to Ron and Hermione, he cast a questioning glance at them. "Can you cast wandlessly?" The two silently nodded, not really understanding what he was up to. Draco relaxed and wrought a smile on his face. "On three then, the strongest you've got."_

"_What are you doing, Draco?" Hermione demanded, grabbing him roughly by his arms. "You're barking mad, he'll kill you."_

"_Granger, you don't know my precious father. He may have beaten me up but he is too big a coward to curse his own son. You just make sure you cast those spells and I'll be fine," he answered calmly, gently removing her hands from his arms. Nodding to the two, he made a hesitating step towards his father._

"_One..." Hermione counted in herself. Drawing a few deep breaths trying to relax, she reached to her magical core, mentally picturing the Reductor she was going to cast._

"_Draco, leave this instant. I will deal with you later. Move!" Lucius ordered, stepping closer and adding a magical edge to his voice. Almost as good as an Imperius Curse against the weak-willed, but Draco only smirked._

"_I don't think I will be doing that, Father," he spat out the last word with clear disgust. "See, from the moment you'd roughed me up in the middle of Diagon Alley just because I refused to torture that Hufflepuff girl for your pleasure and left me half-dead there, things have changed. It wasn't any of the oh-so-superior Pureblood families that had taken me in and not my own mother who had nursed me back to life; it was Molly Weasley who sat seventy-two hours beside my bed. It was Hermione Muggleborn Granger who brewed the potions to cure me and it was Ron Weasley who said 'Welcome back, mate' when I regained consciousness. So," now he smiled with an honest smile, "my __**real**__ family, the only people that had ever cared for me, are here and I'm not leaving them, surely not with you."_

"_You leave me with no choice, cub!" Lucius roared, his hand slowly crawling towards his pocket, but Draco still kept smiling. His smile taunted, teased the Death Eater, who couldn't understand his son's apparently stupid, reckless behaviour. Still, he was determined not to let anything or anybody harm him. _

"_Two..." Ron whispered, sharply exhaling. He wasn't sure his wandless magic was strong enough for the "Diffindo" he had imagined casting, but he was determined not to let his two comrades down. Moreover, he just had a brilliant idea but he needed his wand for it; he just hoped his first curse would cause enough trouble to give him that fracture of a second to summon it._

"_That's just it, Father," Draco stopped five steps away from him. "You left me with no choice either other than to die; I was given a second chance by those, whom I always thought my enemies and I'm going to make a really good use of it."_

"_Enough of it. Imperio!" Lucius drew his wand in a swift moment and pointed it at his son. "Now kneel!" Screeching his teeth, Draco obeyed and slowly lowered himself on his knees. "I don't think you have realized your position. The orders of the Dark Lord were simple. Kill everybody, take no prisoners. I'm already risking my head by trying to talk sense into your stubborn, stupid head. Now move out of my sight and let me deal with your precious friends. Go..."_

_Then many things happened at once. Draco swiftly jumped up from his kneeling position, shaking off the Imperius Curse, and summoned his wand, firing the strongest Stunner he could muster at his father. Caught full frontal by the red jet of light, Lucius flew back a good twenty feet, with a loud thump landing against a tree, his spine snapping in an instant._

"_Three!" yelled Hermione and thrust out her right hand, pouring all the accumulated magical energy into a single Reductor Curse, sending it into the Death Eater standing closest to her. With a surprised glance, the man looked at the gaping hole the size of a football in his chest before he collapsed dead. At the same moment, Ron cast his 'Diffindo' at Lestrange, neatly severing his head from his body and, summoning his wand, intoned clearly "Accio Death Eaters' wands!". Reaching out with his left hand, he captured the wands soaring towards him through the air._

_Unfortunately Draco's wand was also summoned from his hand and the boy, who was busy raising a "Protego Maximus" shield big enough for the three of them, got distracted. While he was struggling with his wand, his shield collapsed the very same moment he caught up with the two. Heavily panting, he ducked besides them, to the relative safety of a nearby bush._

"_What the fuck are you doing, Weasley?" he barked, turning around and sending a curse into a second group of Death Eaters closing on them._

_Apologetically smiling, Ron cast a shield with all four wands he was holding. "It's not my mistake that you were thinking 'Hey, fancy my new tattoo?' would be a cool pickup line, Malfoy. Let's get out of here. I've got an idea. Hermione, you know where the secret passage on the third floor is? The one that leads to Honeyduke's?" _

_The bushy-haired girl nodded, firing a "Lumos Solem" into a small group of vampires crawling upon them._

"_Nice catch, Granger," smirked Malfoy, approvingly eyeing the girl who was holding her ground surprisingly well, much better than most of the fighters he had seen._

"_Sometimes it does help to read your books and do your homework," she spat back, her eyes twinkling, her cheeks burning with the battle of fire._

"_Hermione, Harry, my parents, Ginny and Kingsley went down that passage; they wanted to catch the Death Eaters between two fires. Hurry, go after them, we'll come after you in a sec. Tap the statue of witch with your wand, the password is 'Dissendium'."_

"_But Ron, I'm not leaving you here," the girl started to argue, but Ron wanted to hear none of it._

"_No 'buts', Hermione; just do as I said and we'll be there with you in an instant. If it works out, we can drive them into the castle." Seeing her bursting out into tears, Ron drew her closer and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, not taking notice of the vomiting gestures Draco was making._

"_I love you, sweetheart. Now go!" Gently, he pushed her away and the two boys stood up and released a firework of curses to cover her until she reached the relative safety of the castle. They saw her enter the building and ran after her, continuing to fire deadly curses into their pursuers, when an invisible force slammed into their chests smashing them into the castle walls, taking both lives in an instant._

Somewhat dizzy and light-headed, Fleur emerged from Ron's memories. She understood something or somebody wanted her to receive these memories and she understood she had just been given some clues, just enough for a slight chance to find at least a few survivors. Slight chance indeed; knowing those people she had never imagined them hiding out when the fate of the British Wizarding World was on the stake.

Not looking around in the castle, she darted up the stairs leading to the third floor. Effortlessly finding the statue, she muttered the password and the statue moved, revealing the entrance to the passage.

When she entered the narrow tunnel, a strong, scathing stench hit her nostrils. The air was tainted with an unknown, venomous substance; she understood that the same moment her stomach turned upside down and she violently vomited out her scarce meal. Inhaling sharply a few times, she cleaned herself off with her wand and applied a "Bubble-head Charm" to keep the substance out of her lungs and moved slowly, carefully forward.

She wasn't even surprised to find the lifeless body of Hermione lying in the passage, about twenty steps from the entrance. She lay there peacefully, only her hands grasping her throat were telling Fleur how she had died, in a desperate fight for a breath of fresh air, before whatever poisoned the air had killed her. The Veela silently cursed Heavens; this beautiful, talented, young witch should have become her sister-in-law, should have loved and been loved, should have lived her life instead of lying here dead on the cold, indifferent stone. A few steps further she found Kingsley's body and beside him, leaning against the wall, Ginny and Harry, holding each other tight in a last embrace.

From all tragedies seen today, the sight of this young couple what the one that had shaken Fleur most. Apart from Bill, Ginny was the very Weasley she'd loved most; on her wedding Ginny was her maid of honour and they'd spent countless nights together planning Ginny's own wedding. Even though Harry had never really openly admitted his feelings towards her; never asked her hand; everybody in the extended Weasley family was sure it was only a question of time before he'd see reason.

_Now it would never happen, _Fleur thought, being overwhelmed again by her emotions; she fell on her knees next to the young couple and hugged them against herself. Numb from all pain, the loss of all people she'd ever loved, she could cry no more; she only silently rocked back and forth on her knees, holding the two youngsters tight, completely losing her sense of time.

Gently untangling the embrace of the two, she laid Ginny on the floor, closing her hazel eyes. _Those eyes will never twinkle when they catch sight of Harry, they will never laugh at him; that fire had been put out forever. _

Turning back to Harry, Fleur realized the position he was sitting. His left foot was twisted under him in an unnatural angle, and on the floor lay a makeshift staff he must have been supporting himself with while walking. An injury, most probably a fracture he must have sustained in the Battle, she thought, and very carefully laid the boy on the ground, adjusting his injured leg back into normal position.

She emitted a high-pitch yell when the fist roughly grabbed her cloak, only to release it a second later.


	5. Chapter 5

At first, Fleur thought it was only a product of her imagination; a hallucination caused by the shock she had felt seeing the last man she'd expected to survive, lying dead. She was just about to stand up and move onward when the same fist closed around the thin, creased material of her cloak again and this time, it held on it tight.

Fleur jumped as if she had been bitten by a venomous snake or given an electrical shock. The very next moment, however, she kicked into action mode. Summoning her powers, she called a breeze into existence, sweeping the tainted air out of the corridor. Removing the Bubble-head charm, she drew a deep breath of stale, dusty air. Only after deeming it breathable, did she turn back to Harry and cast a few spells to see if he was still alive or if it was only an involuntary muscle contraction; a rogue electric impulse sent out long ago by his dying brain.

Her heart rate soared into the skies when she saw the green spark her wand had emitted. "Ennervate!" she pronounced the charm clearly, pointing it at Harry's chest, yet, she could see no visible change in the boy's condition. Slightly hysterical, she repeated the charm but Harry just lay there lifeless. Fleur knew he must be alive - she had performed her diagnostic spells correctly – she just had to reach him somehow. She recalled an incident she had seen on the street in Paris when she was a small girl and quickly made up her mind.

"Come on, Harry, come back! Come back, dammit!" She repeated the words as a litany, a desperate prayer to the powers above, as she straddled the boy. At first, she rhythmically applied pressure to his chest in a desperate attempt to pump blood through his heart, every few minutes switching to mouth-to-mouth, trying to fill up the boy's lungs with air. ( do you understand that bit, the pressure was not rhythmic pressure it was applied pressure – rhythmically is the adverb – describing the pressure not the other way round, applied is the verb. )

A quarter hour passed by, and Fleur was profusely sweating. Her efforts seemed futile but she didn't think of giving up, especially after her second diagnostic spell gave the same result; a spark of life was still there, in the boy's broken, battered body. Gritting her teeth, Fleur went on; filling her lungs, she pressed her lips to Harry's again, exhaling deeply into his lungs. Suddenly she was rewarded by a sputtering, choking cough.

Harry floated in darkness; he didn't know where he was, he didn't know _when_ he was. He wasn't even sure if he was alive, but he knew for sure he existed somewhere. "Is it death?" he asked himself as he desperately tried to hang on to any fixed point, anything distinguishable in this space out of Space, time out of Time.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of soft, wet lips pressed against his and he moaned softly in delight. "Ginny!" he whispered softly and eagerly answered the kiss, gently brushing her lips with the tip of her tongue. Suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't breathe; he felt an endless weight on his chest and involuntarily raised his hands to his throat as he was running of oxygen, coughing and choking. With a last desperate attempt, he opened his eyes and was surprised to find that the lips on his did not belong to his Ginny.

Instead, he was welcomed by a halo of silver hair and two incredibly clear, crystal blue eyes he could distinctively make out, even _without_ his old glasses.

"Harry!" whispered the vision as if she didn't believe her own eyes. "Harry! HARRY!" she repeated and repeated his name and the boy felt something moist on his face; a few huge teardrops of happiness. Then, the vision removed her lips from Harry's and sat back straight. Blinking his eyes a few times, trying to focus on her face, Harry involuntarily gulped, when he understood to whom the face belonged and whom he had just tried to kiss.

Fleur, still stunned, didn't believe her eyes at first. When finally realization dawned on her, she emitted a high-pitch yell.

"Merlin, Morgana and Maeve! Harry, you are alive!" Giving in to a sudden surge of emotions, she cupped his cheeks and covered his face with kisses, not caring about her happy tears, now falling freely.

"Fleur? Fleur!" Harry was gasping for breath again, and the girl finally backed off, happily smiling at him though her tears, flushing red, what Harry thought impossible for a Veela.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm just... so happy to see you alive and well..." she muttered under her breath, lowering her head. Trying to ease her discomfort, Harry smiled back at her. "Yes, I AM alive, so I gathered, and I'm glad to see you, too, Fleur." There was something in her behaviour he couldn't place yet, but he had other things on his mind right now.

Harry slowly tried to sit up, only to find out that he couldn't, being pinned under her. Fleur mumbled a few apologies and rolled off him, seating herself besides him on the floor.. When trying to move his leg, however, Harry was rewarded with a sharp, numbing pain. Seeing him wince, Fleur mentally slapped herself for being so ignorant. She fixed his leg with a simple "Episkey"; at least she knew she put the bones back in place, but to heal them was completely different. Rummaging in her bag, she fished out two vials from its very depths and handed them over to the boy. "Here, drink them, Harry. It's Skele-Gro and a Pain-numbing potion. You broke both legs, as far as I could see. I managed to fix them and soon you'll be feeling better."

Nodding thankfully, Harry downed the contents of both vials. "Thank you, Fleur. We came down here with the Weasleys and Kingsley to attack the Death Eaters from behind and I do remember having fallen, but nothing afterwards. What happened? How did you get here? Where are the others? Where is Ginny?"

With an immensely sad expression on her beautiful face, Fleur silently looked into his eyes, her lips pressed into a tight line.

This was the moment Harry realized that something had gone terribly wrong. Unwilling to accept the awful truth, he pressed on, hoping for a miracle. "Fleur, answer me!" he demanded, but a miracle didn't happen. Instead, the girl's lips started to tremble and she began to cry. Instinctively leaning closer, Harry drew her into a soft hug and the two just held each other tight, finding comfort in each other's presence.

"When I came down the tunnel," started Fleur in a soft voice, somewhat startling Harry, "there was something in the air, something poisonous which made me throw up. As I walked further, this substance became stronger, more concentrated and were it not for my Bubble-head Charm, I would be lying here dead now."

Harry drew slightly back, his forehead resting against Fleur's. In the same, gentle voice, he whispered, barely audibly. "Fleur, where are the others? What happened to them? I need to know, now please tell me!"

With a heavy sigh, Fleur gently released Harry from her embrace. Tapping his forehead with her wand, she muttered an incantation. Rapidly blinking a few times, Harry finally managed to focus his newly repaired eyes but soon he wished he hadn't when she recognized the fragile form of Ginny Weasley lying on the floor, lifeless, just a few steps away, where Fleur had laid her. Not without an effort, he managed to raise himself on all fours and crawl over to her, gently taking the limp body into his embrace and letting out a feral cry.

"Ginny! Sweetheart!"

She seemed so peaceful in his arms, there was even a hint of a smile on her lips, only her eyes were glassy, dull; those hazel eyes, in which a twinkle could always make his heart skip a beat. He cried for her, for them; he cried for their dreams that would never come true.

All this time, Fleur watched the grieving boy with a sympathetic gaze. 'This day will be the day of endless pain, grief and farewell and after today, nothing will be the same. This day will be known as the day when darkness began. From today on, there will be those who had lived and the two who had survived and we will have to learn to live with this.'

Gently caressing Ginny's auburn hair, drawing in her scent – a hint of lavender and lilac - Harry raised his tear-stained face, searching Fleur's face.

"It's my fault, Fleur," he whispered, slowly turning his head away from her, staring into a spot behind her back. "Had she not come with us, she would be alive now. It's all my fault. I killed her!"

"Stop it right there, Harry!" yelled Fleur and a slight breeze came to existence as she started to become upset. "It's NOT your fault. There was not a single place on Earth she would have been safer than with you and her parents!"

"I could have sent her to Aunt Muriel's. I could have hidden her somewhere else! She didn't have to die!" cried Harry in a trembling voice. Suddenly a small fireball erupted from Fleur's hand and crashed into the stone wall, mere inches away from Harry's head. The breeze became stronger and – Harry realized in awe – it was coming from Fleur; he had never seen Veela magic before, save the final of the Quidditch World Cup, but the girl radiated power and Harry instinctively backed off.

"'Arry, I don't know 'ow you survived zis... sing zat had killed the ozzers but zere must be a reason be'ind it. We Veela 'ave our own relizion," she continued, somewhat calmer, but Harry realized she must have been distracted and her, until now, flawless English became heavily accented, "and we firmly believe in ze powers above us and zat everysing zat happenz iz zeir work."

"And what if I didn't want to survive? What if I'd preferred to be in the Shadowlands now, with Ginny in my arms?"

"Nonsense 'Arry! Look at me! I'm a woman and I juzt lozt my 'uzband. Would it be better if I joined him in death?" Fleur moved closer to him, immense sadness in her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Bill too?" asked Harry in disbelief, gently laying Ginny on the ground and slowly standing up, leaning on his makeshift staff and probing his legs.

Sadly nodding, Fleur could mouth only a barely audible "yes". Her knees suddenly buckled and Harry, just in time, managed to catch her, stopping her from falling flat on the ground. Gently lowering her to the floor, Harry sat beside her and held her tight, hissing from the pain in his injured legs.

"Merci Harry, I guess it's been too much on me," Fleur flashed him a thankful smile, her powers now perfectly under control again.

"It's okay, Fleur," Harry assured her. "Tell me everything you know. How bad is it?"

"Really bad, Harry," the girl answered simply, running her wand over Harry's legs again. The pain subsided immediately and Harry let out the breath he had been holding.

"Hermione's body is here a few steps this side of the entrance. I haven't seen Mum and Dad Weasley or Kingsley yet. Ron and … Draco died at the entrance to the Castle. I've moved Bill's body to the Shrieking Shack," enumerated Fleur, feeling strangely numb from all this pain and suffering she had witnessed today.

Before finishing the sentence, Harry started crawling back to the entrance and when Fleur caught up with him, he was cradling the body of the bushy-haired girl, his best friend of seven years. Words were superfluous as he silently mourned her, said his goodbyes to her, gently kissing her forehead.

When he closed the girl's eyes, Harry laid her back on the floor. "Are there any survivors, Fleur?" he asked slowly, measuring each word and dreading to hear the girl's answer.

"Non, Harry. There's not a single living soul out there. Everybody is dead."

There was suddenly a silent moment of understanding between them as he slowly rose and looked into her eyes.

"Everybody is dead," repeated the girl. "We are all alone."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry just stood there, still unsure of whether he'd understood correctly what just had been said. Yet, seeing the endless pain on the Veela's beautiful face left him with but one single option. He had to believe the unbelievable. All his friends, his lover, all their families had been massacred and Voldemort had now the whole country in his hands.

With a stony expression on his face, he slowly spoke, measuring out each and every syllable as if even speaking hurt him. "What are we going to do now, Fleur? I'm not leaving Ginny and the others here."

"I have disposed of the Death Eaters' bodies I found outside, Harry," answered the girl in a cool, emotionless voice. "I haven't been in the castle itself but I doubt we'd find anybody there, dead or alive. From what I've seen there was Fiendfyre burning in the castle; I haven't even found a single piece of furniture. It's only the walls that are still standing, everything and everybody else is ash now."

Contemplating about their future options for a short while, Harry scratched his nose. "I think we still have to cast a quick look, maybe someone had managed to flee to the Room of Requirements; and then we have to bury our dead," he offered slowly. "Its' soon evening," he continued, consulting his old wristwatch, "and I don't want them to be eaten up."

Nodding her silent agreement, Fleur cleaned her throat, still hoarse from all that crying today. "I guess you are right, Harry. Let's get out of here." She reached into one of her pockets and fished out a wand, handing it over to Harry. "You will need it, if I'm not mistaken. It was Gabrielle's wand. She would... she would want you to have it. Willow and Veela hair, nine and a half inches."

Speechless, Harry reached out with his hand and accepted the wand. It felt warm in his palm; as soon as his skin made contact with the wood, a few huge red sparks flew off the tip of the wand. Normally, a wand of someone else wouldn't work at all or would work with certain limitations; this one, however, felt as if had been his own. Raising his eyes questioningly to the Veela, he was surprised to see her smile, no matter how tragic this day had been.

"Gabrielle must have developed a slight crush at you, Harry, what with you saving her during the Tournament and all that jazz, otherwise her wand would have never accepted you just like that."

"You knew that, Fleur?" Harry's face was a huge question mark.

"I suspected that much, yes, but didn't know for sure," Fleur admitted rather unwillingly. "The months after the Tournament she had been speaking of you all the time. I had to translate all books for her where your name was mentioned: "Modern Magical History", "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts" and "Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century"."

Seeing her teary-faced at the mention of her murdered sister, Harry did something what up to a day ago he would have considered bold. Reaching for her, he wiped away her tears with his thumbs and kissed her very gently on her cheek. There was no erotic load in the kiss; it was a kiss between good friends, one comforting another but it felt as if his lips were burned by an electric discharge.

"I'm very sorry for your losses, Fleur," he said simply, resting his forehead against hers. "We both have lost everything and everybody we loved, but you were right. We are alive and it must have a damned good reason. I just want you to know that I will always be here for you, no matter what awaits us."

He rather felt than saw the girl nod silently, then he felt a burning sensation as the girl's lips gently brushed against his cheek..

"I know, Harry, and I will be here for you," she whispered. "Now, let's get away from here."

Leaning on his staff, Harry walked down the corridor, checked Honeydukes, then performed the "Point Me" charm he had learned from Hermione in their fourth year, slightly modifying it so that it would point to Molly and Arthur Weasley. The wand, no matter how well it was working for him, was pointlessly turning around on his palm. Shaking his head, he returned to Fleur, who in the meantime levitated Ginny's body next to Hermione's and created a Portkey from her scarf. Laying it across the two bodies, she grabbed one end of the scarf and nodded Harry to do the same and tapped her wand against the scarf. The next moment, they materialized under the Whomping Willow, which now was immobilized.

Immensely tired, Fleur sat on the ground, leaning against the trunk of the willow. Grabbing her bottle, she offered it to Harry first, but the boy politely rejected it. Taking a few sips of water, she exhaled sharply, closing her eyes, resting her hands on her abdomen.

In the meantime, Harry was digging a grave. Two graves, to be precise. Into one, he wanted to bury the Weasleys and his closest friends, the other one he designated to all other victims. Removing small piles of Earth with his wand from the ever-deepening holes, it took him the greater part of an hour before he could let out a satisfied sigh. All this time, he kept casting glances at the resting girl, who, at one point, even seemed to have fallen asleep, her hands gently caressing her abdomen, her lips slightly moving in her sleep.

When he deemed the graves ready, he started levitating the bodies to their final resting places. Fleur joined in shortly afterwards, with their joint efforts making good progress. Another hour passed and it was already getting darker, but finally it was done with the last bodies they had managed to find.

Falling on their knees at the Weasley's grave, they mourned them for one very last time, then Harry swished his wand, filling the grave with earth. Then they moved over to the other grave, doing the same. When they were done and nothing was giving away the presence of the makeshift cemetery, Harry took Fleur's hand. Casting a last glance at the castle, he was just about to Apparate them away, when he felt Fleur's hand squeezing his.

"Wait, Harry," she spoke softly. "They must be remembered." Feeling the boy's questioning glance, she gently removed her hand from his and moved closer to the Weasley grave. Raising her wand, she spoke a long incantation, waving her wand in an intricate pattern. A thick, grey mist formed above the grave, then, very slowly, the contours of a silvery obelisk, maybe 20 feet tall, started to form from the mist, only to solidify after Fleur uttered the last word of the incantation.

There was a short inscription carved into the strange material forming the obelisk in black runes.

"_Here lie the Weasleys, the members of an ancient Wizarding family:_

_Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, Percy, Ginevra._

_You gave your lives for us, for each other, for what you firmly believed. You are gone but not forgotten. _

_Your memory will live forever in the hearts of those who had the honour to have known and loved you."_

"Beautiful, Fleur!" admitted Harry, admiring the perfect wandwork and word choice of the girl. Sheepishly smiling, Fleur repeated the charm on the second grave, here she erected a white wall, six feet high and twenty feet long from the same silvery material. Pointing her wand at first to the sheet of parchment, then to the wall again, the names were carved into the silvery substance, slowly, one by one, until all 441 names were done.

Suddenly, the girl's legs gave in, the second time today, from exhaustion and she fell into Harry's arms.

In one swift motion, but not without an effort, he put one arm under her knees and swung her up into his arms, causing her to yelp in surprise. The next second the two of them dissolved in thin air, as Fleur, collecting her remaining strength, Apparated them away with her untraceable magic.

Materializing in the Shrieking Shack, Harry's eyes scanned the interior. Recognizing the familiar silhouette of Bill's body in the faint light of the dying Sun coming through the magically blinded window, he winced, but nevertheless gently laid the feather-light frame of the young Veela besides him on the bed.

Examining the deep wounds on Bill's wrists, his face darkened and Fleur couldn't miss the sudden change in his demeanor. "Blood wards..." he breathed out but the girl caught his words. "What did you say, Harry?" she asked in a sharp voice.

He let out a sharp breath and turned towards the girl. "The last time I saw Bill alive in the Great Hall. He told me that he had found a breach in the wards the Founders had erected and that Flitwick, McGonagall and himself would try to fix it." Feeling her questioning glance, he unwillingly continued. "The strongest wards one can imagine are blood wards. It was the piece of magic Dumbledore relied on, trying to protect me from Voldemort. Bill wanted to seal the wards with a blood ward built on his own blood. He died as a hero, trying to protect all others."

Sharply turning away to mask the tears in his eyes – he couldn't show himself weak in front of the girl who needed his protection – Harry conjured a fire, welcoming its warmth. Swishing his wand a few times, he cleaned the room, fixed a broken chair, just to engage himself and give the girl a few minutes on her own.

He boiled some water while Fleur sat up on the bed, collecting the remains of her sandwich. Harry was curiously eyeing the blue slice of bread. "What have you done with your bread, Fleur?" he asked, without the slightest trace of irony in his voice.

"I wanted to transfigure it into something bigger," answered the girl in a tired, yet somewhat irritated voice. Obviously she wasn't used to her magic failing her, but in her current state it was the best she could do.

With a flick of Gabrielle's wand, Harry removed the disgusting blue colour from the bread and handed it over to the girl, who, cutting it into two halves, offered one piece to him.

Shaking his head, Harry gently pushed her hand back. "You eat your sandwich, Fleur, you two need it more than I do. Tomorrow we'll get something to eat in Hogsmeade."

Biting a piece from the sandwich, Fleur chewed absentmindedly. Harry's words came down to her only seconds later and she stared at him for a while, her mouth slightly agape.

"How far along are you, Fleur?" the boy asked simply, proving her thoughts. Lowering her head, she blushed sheepishly, the second time today, and answered in a low, pained voice. "F... four months. How did you know, Harry? I haven't told you, that's for sure!"

Smiling an honest smile, Harry sat besides her. "I saw you sitting under the Willow, cradling, caressing your abdomen. I heard you talking to someone in French, with no one around to understand you, even when you dozed off. I don't speak French but I understood to whom you must have been speaking at once."

Cocking her head, the Veela measured the boy with an approving glance. "I couldn't have summed it up better, but you were right. I will have a beautiful daughter and she's worth living for." Finishing with her meal, she nodded thankfully when the boy thrust a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Carefully sipping from the hot drink, she continued.

"I do feel guilty for having survived while everyone else is dead, Harry," she said simply, "and most probably going to feel guilty for the rest of my life. Eventually, I will have to learn to live with the thought that Bill won't hold my hand when I'm going to deliver her and that he won't be around to see her grow into a beautiful woman."

"Believe me, Fleur, I know all about feeling guilty," admitted Harry bitterly. "Most probably, I will never get to understand why that … something that had killed Ginny and Hermione didn't manage to finish me off. Most probably, after having lost everyone … except you … I'd ever cared for, there will be times I'll wish it had, though, but let me tell you something. I'll do everything I can to keep you and your and Bill's daughter alive, Fleur, and that's a promise."

"Thank you, Harry," whispered Fleur through her tears. They looked into each other's eyes and involuntarily moved closer as if an unseen force was drawing them together. The very last moment before their lips could meet, Harry suddenly broke off and jumped up from the bed. He went up to the window and started out into the nothingness.

"I'm going to stand guard tonight," he started in an unnaturally high voice. "You will need to get some sleep and tomorrow, I foresee, will be another tough day. I felt the wards you'd put up when you Apparated us here. You really did a good job with them but I doubt they would hold off more than a few Death Eaters."

Transfiguring a rag into a makeshift bedcover – McGonagall would have probably assigned him an extra three feet essay on the subject – he patiently waited until Fleur lay comfortably on the bed, then draped the cover over her. Assuringly squeezing her shoulder, he whispered goodnight to her, and was already about to leave when he felt her fingers close around his hand. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he sat on the bed and patiently waited until sleep consumed her. Then he slowly removed his hand and sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, silently watching the playful flames, clenching Gabrielle Delacour's wand in his right hand.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Fleur woke up from an exhausted, dreamless sleep to the delicious smell of fresh bread and roast chicken. The smell was teasing her nostrils, calling and challenging her as if it was saying "I'm right here, dear. Come get me! Eat me!" She tossed around in her bed, tried to shoo away

the disturbing thoughts, but finally gave it up.

Opening her eyes wide, she sat up in her bed, only to find out that the smell of roast chicken wasn't a dream. It was smiling at her from a small silver plate on the table, together with a loaf of fresh-looking bread, a few tomatoes and a bottle of pumpkin juice; all in all a mouthwatering experience for the girl who – apart from two stale sandwiches – hadn't eaten anything the last 24 hours.

Taking Bill's hands into hers, she lovingly watched his peaceful face for a while. _"What am I going to do without you, sweetheart? How can I face this world knowing that I'll never be able to hold your hand, to kiss you, to whisper into your ears that I love you?"_ Sadly shaking her head, she kissed Bill's forehead, her lips lingering on the cold skin much too long.

Loudly swallowing her saliva, Fleur slid off the bed and sat down at the table. Hungrily devouring a chicken leg in no time, then a second one, she was just about to start on the third one when someone's muffled steps startled her and she looked up from the plate, right into the smiling face of Harry Potter. Realizing she must have looked somewhat comical she wrought an apologetic smile on her face and blushed prettily, the chicken leg still in her right hand.

"Good morning, Fleur," Harry greeted her softly. "Sorry if I had woken you." From his tired eyes Fleur could see at once that he really had been up all night long, waking over her peace and suddenly felt guilty.

"Good morning, Harry," she replied, taking a healthy bite from the meat just to cover her awkwardness. "_You_ hadn't woken me. This thing here..." she pointed at the table with a wide gesture, "this one had. Have _you_ already eaten?"

Uncapping a bottle of Butterbeer, Harry nodded, heavily plopping into the other chair besides her. "I sure have, thank you. How's your chicken? Still warm?"

"You're kidding me?" laughed Fleur. "It's the best meal I've had in a week! Where on Earth did you manage to find roast chicken?"

"I went to Hogsmeade," lowered Harry his head as if in shame. "I found an old broom and I… flew there… I swear I haven't been away for more than ten minutes, Fleur!" he continued in an apologetic voice. Fleur saw he was just about to start panicking and, understanding he was feeling guilty for having left her alone, gently placed her hand above his. He shrugged and slowly pulled his hand away, then stood and started pacing around the room.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?" Fleur put the chicken leg back on her plate and wiped her hand off a paper towel, expectantly turning towards the boy. Harry, however, turned away from her, only to feel her hand on his shoulder two seconds later. The hand gently forced him to turn around. "What's wrong, Harry?" she asked once again, seemingly upset with his behaviour, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"I... I'm sorry I've left you here all alone, Fleur..." he whispered, "I abandoned you when I just swore to protect you and your child." His voice was almost pleading, needing forgiveness for endangering her, but the young Veela was having none of it. "Nonsense, Harry!" she shouted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "You didn't abandon me, you stupid, noble git, you were trying to care for me! Honestly, how can men be such idiots! _Cochon!_" she cried out in annoyance, desperately trying to tame her powers.

Somewhat calmer, she looked deep into the boy's emerald eyes. "I would trust my life, without thinking, into your hands any time. You haven't done anything to breach my trust. Understand that and stop acting so childish." She patiently waited a few seconds for the message to sink in, then, as if nothing had happened between them, sat back to the table and resumed her meal. From the corner of her eye she was watching the boy for a while, who was just standing there speechless, then he shook his head and went back to the fireplace.

In a few moments, the delicious smell of fresh coffee filled the room as Harry poured some of the steaming hot liquid in two mugs, opened a bottle of milk and produced Merlin knows from where a box of sugar cubes. Placing all this on the table, he took his own mug and took a long sip of the drink.

"Teaser!" muttered Fleur under her nose and Harry looked at her in disbelief. Seeing the young Veela wink at him, however, he relaxed and went back to drinking his coffee.

Even in her miserable mental and physical state, the young Veela smirked inwardly as she, having applied some milk and sugar to her own coffee, slowly stirred the brown fluid. A first battle, a tiny but important one had been won. _Harry needed to realize that all that had happened wasn't his fault, the sooner, the better. He shouldn't be drowning in guilt and self pity because it will, ultimately, destroy him._

"How's things in the village, Harry?" Fleur inquired out of the blue, downing the remains of her pumpkin juice and wiping her lips with a paper towel. The question brought the boy out of his reverie and he, deeply in thought, made a wry grimace.

"It's bad, Fleur. Same as Hogwarts. Bodies scattered everywhere, not a single living soul. I haven't seen anyone I'd recognize though. Half of the village is in ruins," nervously gesticulating, he explained, "but "The Weeping Witch" was virtually untouched and to my surprise the kitchen was full of food. I hope that taking all circumstances into consideration it's not called 'theft', but I took the freedom and made a small reserve for us. Should be enough for 3-4 days." Following his glance, Fleur saw a neatly wrapped package on the floor, around it the familiar bluish glow of a basic Stasis charm.

"I left some money on the counter, incase the owners should return," said Harry and both went silent. Both knew all too well what had happened to the owners and that they would never return but this truth could remain unspoken.

Abruptly, he stood up and left the room. Shortly afterwards, babbling of water could be heard from the neighbouring room. Harry returned, wiping his hand off a towel.

"There's a bowl of warm water in case you want to get freshened up. I've got some soap for you and a fresh towel."

"That would be lovely, Harry, thank you. You've thought of everything. I think you're taking this 'protecting' thing far too seriously," Fleur smiled gratefully at the young wizard. _Because this is what he'd become; no longer 'zis little boy', rather a burdened soul with capabilities he himself didn't recognize yet, a precocious young man having gone through more in his short life than any other normal person in ten lifetimes._

Harry barked a short, bitter laugh. "At least this one, I don't want to screw up. Come, here's your bathroom, Mademoiselle. It's not very comfortable but this is all we've got."

Not knowing whether to scold him Following him to the other room, Fleur was surprised to see that Harry indeed _had_ thought of everything. A bowl full of water on the table, a bottle of shampoo, even a bottle of crème douche, and of course a huge, white, impeccably clean towel.

Flashing a thankful smile to Harry, she turned to the bowl. Placing it on the floor, she muttered "Engorgio" a few times until she deemed the bowl large enough, then filled it up with water. Nodding satisfiedly, she placed her wand on the chair. "I think I'm going to soak here for a while," she purred, removing her sweatshirt. She wore only a short-sleeved T underneath, perfectly aligning to her forms and leaving no room for imagination and Harry involuntarily gulped.

"Well, I'll leave you to your bath then," he managed to squeeze out and fled the room.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting at the table, drinking his second coffee and contemplating about things past, present and future, when he heard the girl calling. "Harry! Would you mind giving me a hand?"

Downing the rest of his coffee and placing his mug on the desk, he tiredly stood. "Sure Fleur, what can I do for you?"

"Can you help me with some water? I need to rinse off my hair."

The startled boy groaned in frustration, knowing that it would mean sharing this small universe of theirs with a very beautiful and very naked Veela, who on top of all this was the widow of one of his adopted brothers. He stopped thinking about Bill as a friend; after the oldest Weasley boy had cornered him questioning him about his intentions with Ginny and giving him the TALK, the two became more than friends.

"Are you sure you can't do it yourself, Fleur? I... I don't feel comfortable..." _Crap, what a lame excuse. She'll never fall for it._

"Please, Harry?" Emitting a frustrated sigh, the young wizard obeyed and moved over to the other room, firmly closing his eyes in the doorway.

"You can open your eyes, Harry, I'm more or less decent," laughed Fleur, feeling his discomfort. "I promise I'm not going to bite."

Opening his eyes for the slightest bit, Harry peeked into the room. The young witch was sitting in the makeshift bathtub, with her back towards the door, her knees pulled up against her breast. Deeming the situation bearable, Harry walked up to her and pulled his wand. It took him a few tries to modify the "Aguamenti" charm so that the temperature of the water would be acceptable, but finally he got it right.

Standing above the young witch, watching her rinsing her hair, Harry couldn't help but silently admire her astonishing beauty, her impeccable skin. _She IS beautiful, even if she's the wife of my oldest brother. She doesn't even have to be a Veela for that._

"Thank you, Harry," the dreamy voice of the girl startled him, causing the 'Aguamenti' charm to end, "for the nice compliment." He shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't say a word, Fleur!" he said, trying to defend himself, but was rewarded with a giggling laughter.

"I'm a pretty good Legilimens, Harry, and you were transmitting your thoughts very clearly," Fleur explained, shaking the water out of her ears sending droplets of water all around the room. Thinking back to his disastrous Occlumency lessons with the Greasy Bat, Harry mentally slapped himself in the face, but the girl continued, slowly standing up, still with her back to Harry. Seeing her shapely derriere rise from the water, Harry groaned again and firmly closed his eyes. "You can't even imagine what it means for a Veela when she's not mistaken for a sexually obsessed freak. I fell in love with Bill because he saw me for a girl, just a simple girl, with all her pluses and minuses. You said pretty much the same. Now, if you could rinse me off, I'm done." And Harry, his eyes still closed, pointing the jet of water randomly at her direction, obeyed.

Turning around, Fleur at first could but barely suppress the urge to laugh – seeing Harry standing there with his eyes closed, but then she changed her mind, understanding the reason of his reaction. Quickly washing the soap-bells off herself, she gave a quick peck on his nose. "A gentleman, as always." Stepping out of the makeshift bathtube, she quickly toweled herself off, wrapping the tower around herself afterwards.

"It's safe to open your eyes, Harry," she said simply, without the slightest trace of irony in her voice. Harry cancelled the charm and did as he was told, seemingly relaxing at the sight of the nearly-clothed girl. Siphoning the water out of the bowl, he was just about to remove the 'Engorgio' charm from it, when Fleur's voice stopped him dead in his track. "Now it's your turn, Harry. You need a shower as well." Seeing his hesitation, she laughed again. "I haven't eaten you so far, I promise I'm not going to eat you now. Come on!"

With no weapons left in his arsenal, Harry quickly refilled the bowl and unclothed and, wishing he could be somewhere else on Earth, stepped into the water. He saw Fleur demonstratively turn away, so he relaxed a bit and very quickly washed himself. Sitting in the same position, he called out to the girl. "Can you rinse me off, please?"

Fleur raised her wand sending a jet of musk-scented water at him. She sympathetically watched the scarred torso of the boy, a silent witness of countless Quidditch injuries and curses he had been at the receiving end. He turned now around and she closed her eyes in order not to embarrass him as she rinsed him off, then, cancelling the charm, summoned the other towel and handed it over to him.

While the boy was drying himself, she cast a few cleaning spells at their clothes and quickly dressed. When the boy was also clothed, she ran her wand through his untameable locks drying them in an instant. Concentrating, she closed her eyes and in the next moment her silver hair, completely dry and combed, lay in neat waves around her shoulder.

Speechless, Harry could only gape at her. "How... how'd you do that?"

"It's part of my _special_ magic, Harry," replied the girl readily. "I can make myself presentable, desirable whenever I want to."

"What... what other magic do you possess?"

"Well, you saw my fireballs already. Full-blood Veela are Fire Elementals and I can control fire to some extent." She held her fist, palm upwards, in from of Harry's eyes. Screwing up her face, she concentrated again and started slowly opening her fist. There was a tiny red flame dancing on her palm. The more she opened her fist, the bigger the fireball grew until it fully occupied her palm. Her hair fluttered in the slight breeze coming from the girl and Harry felt the sheer amount of power radiating from her.

Closing her palm, Fleur dismissed the fireball and looked into his eyes. "Fire is our natural weapon. One of our natural weapons."

"One of?" Harry asked in disbelief. She was more than a pretty face, he already knew that, but he never thought she was THAT powerful. "You have more weapons?"

"Veela are natural shape shifters, Harry. We can turn into a giant bird: beak, feathers, wings, talons, the whole package, if we want to. See it as a kind of Animagus transformation, but it's in our genes while Animagus transformation needs to be learned." She abruptly cut off the sentence, turning away from him.

"Fleur, what's wrong?" asked Harry softly, placing his hand on her shoulders. Loudly sniffing, she turned back, their faces very close. "Pray that you never get to see me when I'm transformed," she whispered. "I hate myself in that shape. Even Bill didn't see me like that and if he did, he would have most probably got disgusted with me. Don't ever ask me, hear? Never!"

For a moment, Harry thought his eyes were failing him as he saw her pupils turn yellow with a large black centre and he gasped in horror, gulping heavily. Sharply turning away, Fleur took a few deep breaths and when she turned back to the boy, her face was smiling, her eyes normal again.

"I want you to get some sleep, Harry. We'll have to move on very soon, I'm afraid; I don't know for how long it will be safe to camp here. You haven't slept for what? 2 days?"

"Three, actually," muttered the boy. "We have been brewing potions, setting up booby-traps, planting Devil's Snare and Mandrakes ever since I caught that glimpse into Voldemort's mind."

Fleur already was busy transforming the table into a bed and conjuring some bedclothes for him. Under the threat of the Imperius curse, she finally managed to convince him to lay down. Magically darkening the room, Fleur sat besides him on the bed.

"You've been watching over me, Harry, now it's my turn to watch over you. Sleep well," she whispered, gently rushing her fingers through his hair.

No sooner had his head hit the pillow than his eyes closed by themselves, but suddenly he felt something tickling his nose. Cursing out under his breath, he forced his eyes open. When they finally managed to focus on a halo of red hair and a voice called out his name, he abruptly sat up on the bed.

"**Ginny?**"


	8. Chapter 8

"Mr. Potter, so nice of you to drop by." The familiar, sweet voice spoke from behind and he felt the presence of two small hands on his shoulders. Turning around, he saw the freckled face of his girlfriend beaming at him. She couldn't hold herself back any longer; he threw herself at him, hugging him as if her life depended on it, wrapping both her arms around his torso, covering him with hundreds of soft kisses. Harry eagerly slipped his hands around her, enjoying the soft, warm feeling of her skin under the thin fabric of her simple red dress.

Shock, fear, relief, pleasure and confusion all flicked across his face before he reached out for her and, completely losing control, pulled her into a passionate kiss savouring the taste of her warm lips, her moist, soft tongue battling against his. Slightly breathless, they broke the kiss and he hold her at arm length, looking deep into her hazel eyes. "Ginny, what are we doing here? Where are we?"

Sliding onto his lap and snuggling comfortably into his arms, the girl smiled at him, oncoming tears making her eyes shine. "That's quite the question, isn't it? Well, we can make this place whatever we like, Harry, so that part of the question is answered. And, since I was here first and you came here, I might just as well ask 'what are you doing here?'"

Screwing up his face, Harry tried to decipher what she'd just said. Looking around, he saw nothing, everything was covered with white mist. It was most certainly not the Shrieking Shack and he was sure he had buried his girlfriend not even 24 hours ago, so he was, to say the least, confused.

As if at the whip of a wand, the mist started to clear, not change, rather change shape, and in a few seconds the two youngsters found themselves in the kitchen of the Burrow. Pulling a chair, Harry sat down, gently drawing Ginny into his lap.

"So, what is this place, Ginny?" he whispered, planting slow, small kisses on her neck. Inclining her head, the girl emitted a low, guttural moan, enjoying his gentle ministrations. "This is the Dreamscape, Harry, the realm of dreams. You are asleep now and I came to visit you while you're asleep."

"Hey, you stole my entry line, Ginny! I'm supposed to be here the insufferable know-it-all, thank you very much!" Harry was surprised to hear another female voice, very close to his heart, and the next moment the smiling figure of Hermione Granger materialized from thin air. Sliding off Harry's lap, Ginny stood aside and the boy rushed to the bushy-heared girl, enclosing her into a bone-crunching hug and kissing her firmly on her lips.

"Mate! This is my girlfriend, don't forget!" Ron appeared next, standing a few steps behind the slightly bedazzled Hermione, broadly grinning at his best friend, enjoying his somewhat comical puzzlement. Extending his hands, he made two steps towards Harry and the two young man, two brothers, firmly hugged each other.

"Haven't we earned a Butterbear or two?" inquired Ginny and four ice-cold bottles appeared on the small table besides them. Uncapping the bottles, they took a healthy swig, toasting each other, than each pulled a chair and seated themselves.

"So, what is this 'Dreamscape', guys?" inquired Harry, replacing his empty bottle on the table and leaning back on his chair. Ginny promptly reoccupied her place on his lap and put her head on his shoulder, enjoying his proximity.

"There are three Planes, Harry," speaking in a soft voice, Hermione started her tale. "The Living World, where you are, the Shadowlands, where those who die come to stay and the Dreamscape. Merlin, the Keeper of Souls here on the Shadowlands allows those who passed away to visit those who stayed behind in their dreams. In your dreams, we are here with you; this is how we talk, this is how you can snog your girlfriend – or me for that matter – cross-eyed and senseless." Slightly flushing, the pretty brunette did not miss her chance to demonstrate the latter on Ron, who was all too happy to be her practicing target.

Harry was thoroughly overwhelmed. It seemed as if all his knowledge about the world had just been turned upside down, ground in a windmill and tossed out into the garbage. He wanted to pinch himself to check if this all was real but the feel of Ginny's hot breath on his neck, the gentle presence of her warm, wet lips on his quickly dissolved all his doubts. On the other hand, talking to his deceased girlfriend and best friends of seven years still seemed somewhat curious to him. His face must have spoken for himself, because Ginny emitted a short laugh and looked deep into his eyes.

"Don't worry, Harry, you haven't gone mad. You are very much alive and we, unfortunately, are very much dead, but it's alright. I'm glad at least the three of you had survived, though."

"Three of us?" Harry didn't understand. Was there another survivor they somehow had missed?

"You, my wife and my daughter, little brother," laughed Bill, clapping him on his shoulder, causing Harry to emit a frightened shriek. "Holy fuck, Bill, you almost scared me to death," Harry almost fainted.

"That, lover boy, would have had the additional bonus that I could have you all for myself, until the end of times," Ginny gently kissed him on his nose. Harry watched her, his eyes glistering with tears. "Oh Ginny, I'm so sorry that you're all dead."

"Don't be, love, for a second. We are at peace with it, after we could accept the truth, that is. It's actually kind of nice, peaceful up here and Dean had already tried to hit on me after he saw you wouldn't join us. It took Dumbledore an hour to remove my Bat-Bogey hex off him," now Ginny was smiling proudly.

There was a painful question Harry needed to ask, he suddenly realized, remembering that he hadn't seen the other Weasleys' bodies among the fallen. "Where is everybody else? Your parents, brothers, Neville, Luna, the DA?" Hermione and Ron exchanged a few sad glances, then the readheaded boy spoke unwillingly. "I haven't the faintest. The last time I saw Mum and Dad, you and Ginny were heading to the secret passage with them and Kingsley. Hermione ran after you shortly afterwards while Draco and I tried to hold off a small group of Death Eaters. I haven't seen them, nor have I seen Percy, Charlie or the twins."

"Fred and George were leading a small group through the Slytherin dungeons. Malfoy told them about a secret passage created about Salazar himself; he said he was using it quite frequently to sneak out of the castle before he repaired that Vanishing Cabinet," added Bill, frowning, as he rummaged in his memories of the Battle. As usual, it was Hermione again to provide the correct answer. "Of course! The castle was burnt down with Fiendfyre, Harry. Fiendfyre kills everything living or nearly living... Oh Merlin!" she cried out loud, burying her head in Ron's shoulders, as realization dawned on her.

Ginny raised her tear-stained face. "It destroyed their bodies and it destroyed their souls as well... They are gone, forever..." she whispered the last words in a broken voice, clinging onto her boyfriend for dear life. "All those in the castle... the children in the Room of Requirement... everybody..." she repeated the words like a mantra, a requiem for the unnecessary murdered, the fallen fighters, her family and friends.

Gently holding her against himself, Harry tried to comfort the girl at his best. Much to his surprise, Ginny's contours slowly started to dissolve. She cast a sad, longing glance at him and gave him a last desperate kiss, causing his heart to skip a beat. Understanding that their goodbye is imminent, she caressed his face for one last time, then stood up from his lap.

"We need to go, my love. We can't stay too long, otherwise we would be stuck in this realm forever." Reluctant to let go of her, Harry's eyes started watering and the frightening feeling of parting with her again grew a lump in his throat.

"Take good care of yourself and stay safe, brother," Ron slapped him on his back with his already half-opaque hand, then his contours dissolved in the air.

"Be careful, my dear Harry," Hermione kissed him gently on his face and Harry felt wetness on his cheek where a stray teardrop of hers landed.

"Will we see each other again?" asked Harry, now openly weeping, enclosing Ginny in his hands for one last time. "Don't worry, my love, we will," standing on tiptoes, the girl whispered in his ear. Another, last kiss, savouring every second of each other and Ginny disappeared right from between his arms. Finally, it was only Harry and Bill, and the milky, thick, whirling mist around them.

"It was a stupid thing with that blood ward, Bill," Harry said seriously, looking into the scarred face of the older wizard.

"I know that, Harry," he admitted simply, wringing his features into a sad grimace. "Yet, it was worth a try. It almost worked, Harry! I was that close!" Putting his hands on Harry's shoulder, Bill's face darkened, and he looked somewhere below his feet. Harry followed his glance and was surprised to see the interior of the Shrieking Shack and Fleur sitting on the bed besides Harry, her wand at ready, guarding his sleep.

"Thank you for taking care of them, Harry," he said simply. "I'm in your debt forever. Without you, they could not have made it this far."

"Nonsense, Bill," Harry abruptly cut him off. "It is me who is in your debt. You gave your life for me, for her. Besides, it was her who saved my life in the tunnel and brought me back."

"She is truly beautiful, Harry, and she was my everything." Harry was surprised to see tears in Bill's eyes. Somehow, this powerful wizard, an expert cursebreaker and tears didn't associate in his head.

"Fleur IS beautiful, Bill, and not only from the outside," blurted Harry out, but the next second he realized what he'd just said and wished he hadn't. Seeing his confusion, however, Bill only laughed. "I saw everything that happened to her from the moment she arrived to Hogwarts yesterday. I saw you being the perfect gentlemen on more than one occasion. Don't worry, Harry, I know that you wouldn't hurt her, and if someone, you'll be able to protect her and my daughter." Raising his hands in front of his eyes, Bill curiously watched them as his contours also started to dissolve. "Well, little brother, it's my hint that it's time to take my leave," he said, extending his right hand, but Harry enclosed him in a firm, manly hug instead.

"Don't worry, Bill, I will protect them, even with my own life," he said firmly, and in that moment, he knew he was telling the truth; he would gladly die for them.

"Let's hope that it won't be necessary. Bye for now!" Bill's ghostly voice, multiplied, still rang in his ears, when another familiar voice startled her, the source of the voice, however, nowhere to be seen.

"Oui, 'Arry, take care of my sister and of yourself! And wield my wand well!"

"I will, Gabrielle, I will," whispered Harry. And then, his eyes opened, only to see the familiar, beautiful face of Fleur Weasley-Delacour smile at him. Much to his surprise, he felt something wet on his right cheek. A teardop, he guessed at once. Exactly on the same spot where Hermione's sole teardrop had landed.


	9. Chapter 9

"You were smiling while you were sleeping," said Fleur simply, comfortably stretching her legs.

Harry carefully swung his legs off the bed and stood, ready to sit back any moment, should his freshly healed legs give out. "Were you watching me all the time?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, not all the time," admitted the girl, "I was in the other room." By Bill's side, Harry understood at once. "I heard you thrashing around and crying something so I decided to check on you and sit with you," she explained further. Casting an apologetic glance at him, she smiled sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind. Then you started smiling in your sleep."

"I did? Fleur, I saw Ginny. And Hermione, and Ron, even Bill..." Harry got excited. "They told me they could visit us in our dreams so we can see each other every now and then!"

"I know, Harry," Fleur placed her hand on his shoulder. "I spoke with Bill last night. I told him I was pregnant with a beautiful daughter," she sniffed loudly, then shook her head with a pained expression on her face. Harry took her hand into his and squeezed it assuringly. "I promised him that I would look after you, Fleur, even if it cost me my life."

"So will I, Harry," nodded the girl seriously. "Together we will have a better chance to survive. But, we have to move pretty soon. I don't want to stay here any longer."

"You are quite right," yawned Harry. "We had better pack our things and get on the move before sunset. Do you have a plan? Where do you think we should go? Nowhere in Great Britain is it safe now and I reckon France is just about the same."

The young Veela scratched her head and thought for a while. "I have some ideas but we'll have to improvise on the go. Let's get packed."

With a few wand movements, they packed their scarce belongings and the bag of food Harry had brought from Hogsmeade and shrank them to a pocketable size. Fleur transfigured Bill's body into a small nephrite statue, a Japanese netsuke and, kissing it, put it into a pouch she was wearing above her heart. Harry admiringly observed her wandlore and was amazed by the flair she was putting into her spells. They were gracious, elegant and sophisticated; probably due to her origins and the core of her wand, he decided by himself.

Once packed, they stepped outside, when Harry suddenly remembered something. Pulling gabrielle's wand, he drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes, trying to remember the incantation. This time it was Fleur watching him with great interest. Halfway into the incantation, he turned to the girl and pointed the wand at her, and Fleur thought she heard him pronounce her name. A golden thread left the tip of the wand and smashed into the girl's chest and she involuntarily winced. Finishing the spell, Harry exhaled sharply and wiped off the bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

"When did you learn the Fidelius charm?" Fleur asked seriously, drilling him with her glance.

Harry's breast was still rising heavily. The amount of magical energy the charm cost him was immense and he was still weak. "Just a week ago," he replied simply, fishing out two battered chocolate bars from his pocket. One he gave to the girl, the other one devoured himself. Feeling his energy restoring, he calmly spoke again. "Our first idea was to use the Fidelius to hide the whole castle. Unfortunately, it's too big an object to hide and even Flitwick and Slughorn together weren't able to complete the charm. It sucked them dry and they spent two days in the Hospital wing until their core had been restored."

"What's the reason, Harry? Why did you hide the Shack?"

"We need a safe refuge, Fleur, and as the Death Eaters know the about the Shack, I hid it as well. But you will have to tell me where our refuge is as it's now protected by the charm and even I can't see it," grimaced Harry, pointing to the spot where a few minutes ago the Shack stood. Fleur nodded.

"Harry, our safe refuge is in the Shrieking Shack and the Shrieking Shack stands not far from Hogsmeade, a few minutes' walk from Hogwarts," she spoke clearly and now Harry saw the walls of the small house materialize as the secret of the Fidelius reached his core.

"Now, as for travelling, I'd recommend a broom. I know, I know, you hate flying," he raised his hand apologetically, seeing the girl was just about to object," but we have nothing else. Apparition is risky and your _special_ magic isn't endless. Let me think a minute."

Contemplating about his options, he suddenly remembered that this morning, when he flew over to Hogsmeade, he shrank his broom to pocket it before checking the houses for something edible. If such magic didn't affect the flying abilities of the broom, he could try a few minor alterations. Concentrating, he pulled his wand again and started casting. First of all, he lengthened the broom's handle so that it would be more comfortable for the two of them to sit. Then he realized he would have to invent something so that Fleur would feel herself safer on the broom. So, rummaging in his memories, he finally decided to conjure something resembling a car infant seat, only slightly bigger.

His two first attempts were clumsy and unsuccessful but for the third try he was rewarded with a rather awkward-looking, yet functional seat, which he glued to the broom with a Permanent Sticking Charm. Commanding the broom, he mounted it and nodded the hesitating girl to take her seat. Unwillingly, fighting her own small internal battle, she obeyed and finally got seated. Making a lazy circle around the Shack at low altitude, Harry checked the stability of the broom and found that with the double load they won't be able to fly faster than 20-30 miles an hour.

Commanding the broom somewhat higher, he increased speed when he suddenly felt two warm hands slipping around his waist, holding onto him for dear life. Slightly turning his head around, he saw the pale face of the girl and her firmly closed eyes and lips. At that moment he understood the irrevocable reality of what had happened not even two days ago and realized that from this day on they could rely solely on themselves.

"Don't be afraid, Fleur. I will be careful and won't drop you," he said in a hoarse voice and the girl, her eyes still closed, nodded slightly, her lips unwillingly curving upwards at his bad joke. He felt her hands tighten around him and he took it as a sign to go on. Taking a left turn, he soon stopped the broom at the two monuments they had erected and jumped off it, leaving the broom and Fleur on it float in mid-air, three feet above ground.

Harry drew his wand and performed the Fidelius charm again, hiding both graves and monuments. Suddenly, everything became dark and he collapsed on the ground, unconscious. With a surprised yelp, Fleur jumped off the broom and rushed to Harry. Muttering '_Ennervate_', she brought him by and uncapped a small bottle of water, holding it against his lips.

Nodding thankfully, Harry tried to shook the dizziness out of his head. "Thanks Fleur, I need another chocolate and I will be fine in a few minutes. I'm just feeling groggy, that's all. "

After ten minutes, he stood up probing his legs and was surprised to find out they were holding and the dizziness was also gone, so he deemed safe enough to take off. "I had to hide the monuments otherwise any Death Eater venturing here would have destroyed it. Sorry that I made you Secret Keeper again, but I couldn't find anybody else around..." he grimaced wrily. "Let's go, hold on to me." They took off again and Harry headed, following an internal voice, towards South.

"Romania," the girl whispered in a trance. "We have to go there! The Veela colony will put us up until we find some other place." Spitting out her hair the wind threw into her face, she continued. "My Grandmother was born there and until she got married to Grandfather they lived there."

"Romania it is, then," smiled Harry. "But how do we get there? I can't fly 2000 miles on this broom."

Fleur suddenly found her voice. "An airport, Harry. Any airport will do. And then, we'll improvise."

Nodding his agreement, Harry increased his speed and was surprised to find out that he could fly a comfortable 30 miles per hour and the broom was still perfectly stable and maneuverable. Taking a slight left turn, he headed South-East now, towards the unknown and leaving behind the beauty of the ancient Scottish Highlands.


	10. Chapter 10

It was just about 3 pm when they finally arrived to Edinburgh. They approached the ancient city from the sea, just above Firth of Forth, but no matter the rush, Harry couldn't help but make a few slow, lazy circles above the beautiful, medieval castle crowning Castle Hill. The masses of tourists were seemingly unaware of the horrors that had happened only a few days ago; colourful buses were unloading excitedly chattering guests from all over the world. Fleur, by now, actually got used to flying and even dared to open her eyes; the magnificent view underneath reminded her of her homeland, the Loire-valley, where her ancestral home stood until a month ago.

The airport was only a few minutes flight from the city and shortly the two, still disillusioned, dismounted their broom behind the car parking. Shrinking the broom, they removed the Disillusioning charm from themselves and quickly rearranged their luggage, putting the most necessary things into a small bag they could take on board and getting rid of the rest.

Fleur reached now into the pouch she was wearing above her heart and produced two passports, handing one over to Harry. "I suppose you can make better use of it now," she whispered. Having to mention her deceased husband was like twisting a knife in her intestines; the pain was still fresh and she doubted it would ever go away. Harry nodded silently, with a sad smile, and opened the passport, which he understood was a fake one. Flipping up the last page, he was surprised to see it was completely empty.

Fleur understood his questioning glance at once. "Courtesy of Kingsley and Her Majesty's Ministry of Internal Affairs," she clarified. "They are charmed to assume our new identities and their magic is undetectable. We just have to make up one for ourselves." Opening up her passport at the last page, she held it before Harry's eyes while she closed her eyes, screwing up her face in concentration.

Harry watched her features change, just a slight bit, but still enough to make her unrecognizable. Her hair, until now in a tight ponytail, now lay loose in soft waves, crowning her head. As she tapped the empty page with her wand, all fields were filled in and a photo of her new self appeared in the designated area.

"Mary O'Connor," Harry nodded approvingly. "A decent Scottish name, although your pronunciation will give you away the first moment you open your mouth."

Fleur only smiled and tapped her throat with her wand. "It's aw richt, laddie," she said in a heavy Aberdonian brogue, clapping Harry on the shoulder, and the boy's eyes opened wide in surprise. Shaking his head, he went back to his own passport. "Let's see... Iain Campbell, 1 September,1980..." and with a single wand movement his new identity was fixed.

Fleur made a few changes on his face, hair and eyes. She had a hard time disguising his lightning-shaped scar, though; quite a few of the Transfiguration charms she had tried didn't work at all due to the magical nature of the scar. Soon, however, she finished and stepped back, eyeing her model with a critical look. "Not bad," she said satisfiedly, tapping the passport once again, "although the original you is not less handsome. What?" she snapped, seeing Harry blush slightly. "Do you think I didn't peg all those girls drooling at you in your fourth year?"

"It was other than that, Fleur. I ran by many names then: a fraud, a liar, the Chosen One, to name but a few. I'm pretty sure The Oh-so-handsome-boy wasn't among them," Harry gave a sarcastic laugh, examining his new identity.

"You forget, Harry, that I'm a woman and I pick up things a man wouldn't see or even if he would, he wouldn't understand," Fleur playfully scolded him, comfortably taking his hand and they set off towards the terminal. "Even the Slytherin Princess' legs were trembling every time you were in the vicinity; I picked up the signals she was transmitting. Believe me, it wasn't for the reason that you were the one chosen to kill her master."

It was just about the strangest couple one could imagine. Two widowed, orphaned souls, the girl a good two inches higher, beaten and scarred, clinging on each other for dear life.

In a few minutes, they reached the terminal and carefully examined the list of outbound flights. There were quite a few of them to London but they chalked this option off pretty fast; London wasn't the safest place at this moment for two wizards on the run. The same went with the late night Air France flight to Paris. Slightly lost, they looked around the ticket offices and were just about to head for the Information desk, when the young girl at the bmi ticket counter spoke to them.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

It took the two a few seconds to figure out that she was addressing them and another few seconds to figure out what she was asking, but finally, silently nodding in agreement, decided to give it a go. As they were approaching the ticket counter, the girl flashed a toothy smile at them. Not the obligatory one taught at school, they understood at once, it was a honest, friendly smile that made them like the girl at once.

"Good afternoon," they greeted each other politely, then Fleur spoke. "We were hoping to get to Bucharest sometime today or tomorrow but I see you don't have direct flights. Could you please check for us if there's a decent flight we can step over somewhere?" Reaching into her pocket, she produced her passport and nodded Harry to do the same, then the two put their documents on the counter.

For a moment, it seemed as if the assistant were reaching for the passports, but to their great surprise, she simply laid her small, warm hands on theirs. Suddenly, they heard her speak in their heads, in an ancient language.

"_Is mise Deirdre. Draoithe tá mé. Tá do rún sé ar lámh shábhála._"

They barely managed not to jump, but the girl, eerily reminding Luna with her crystal blue eyes, dirty blonde hair and the somewhat dreamy expression on her face, assuringly squeezed their hands. Although they heard her speak Gaelic, each understood the meaning of the words in their native language and they exchanged a surprised look, then turned back to the girl.

"_A Druid?_" they whispered.

Barely moving her lips, the girl answered, barely breathing out the words. "No time for it, my dears. The two security guards are Voldemort's men." Then she emitted a surprised yell and, leaving her place behind the counter, joined the two, excitedly hugging Fleur to herself.

"Mary! Sweet Jesus, Mother of Pearl! Is that really you? I've just recognized you. My, my, it's been a long time. Eleven, twelve years?"

Playing along, Fleur hugged the girl back. "You can say that, Deirdre. Look at yourself how gorgeous you are!" she exclaimed in an exaggerated voice. The few passengers took no notice of the small intermezzo. With a barely visible nod, the girl measured them with her eyes, then she turned to Harry, still speaking to Fleur.

"This be your boyfriend? My, my, isn't he just handsome? And you, you bloody tease, you won't even introduce me to him?"

Apologetically smiling at the boy, Fleur slightly flushed. "Sorry honey. It's Iain, my boyfriend indeed," she interlocked her fingers with Harry's. "Darling, it's Deirdre, my best friend back at school and my biggest rival ever since we turned 10."

"Pleased to meet you, Deirdre," Harry offered, jumping on the bandwagon.

"Oh no, the pleasure is all mine... although in this case, it's Mary's, isn't it, honey?" laughed the Druid, offering her small hand to Harry, which he politely shook. The girl's voice rang in their heads again as their hands connected.

"I know what happened in France and at Hogwarts, my dears and like I said, your secret is safe with me. I'll help you get out of here."

"What are you doing in Bucharest? Business or pleasure?" she asked as-a-matter-of-factly, while returning to her desk.

Fleur annoyedly huffed. "What kind of pleasure are you talking about in that dumbfuck place? We have some distant relatives there from my mother's side who invited us to some stupid wedding. You know my Mum, I can't possibly hurt her by saying no. She'd be pissed with me at least a month after that."

Understandingly nodding, Deirdre flipped open an itinerary book and briefly rushed through the pages, then she spoke again.

"There's a flight leaving for Brussels in less than two hours, then you'll have to sleep over and at 10:15 there's a direct flight to Bucharest. What do you say?"

"I think that's just lovely," said Harry, searching Fleur's glance for approval. "Can you also book an airport hotel for us?"

"Why of course I can!" the girl answered in a faux hurt voice. "Just give me five minutes and I'll take care of everything. May I have your passports please, and if you want to pay with a credit card, I will need to swipe it as well."

Harry was at a loss, but luckily Fleur came to save him again. Reaching for her pouch, she fished out a Barclay's Gold card - Harry realized in awe that it had the name of his new identity on it - and handed it over to the assistant. "You know men, Deirdre, they would even lose their ears, weren't they firmly attached to their heads."

Harry tried to look hurt. "I don't know, love, what's worse: losing a credit card or depleting a bank account in three hours. Ouch!" he exclaimed, painfully rubbing his hurting arm where Fleur pinched him, but the playful spark in the girl's eyes quickly cooled him down.

In the meanwhile, Deirdre made her phone calls and was now busily typing on her terminal. Five minutes later, she collected her printouts and stood. Handing over their passports and the credit card - which Fleur pocketed at once - she gave Harry the payslip for signature. Fleur nodded assuringly, so Harry quickly scribbled down his new name and returned the slip to the assistant.

"I have already checked you in for both flights," explained the girl, handing over their tickets and boarding passes. "Now, you can go straight to passport and security control; boarding has already started."

"I don't know how we can possibly thank you for everything, Deirdre," Fleur lowered her voice barely above a whisper.

"Nonsense, there's nothing to thank for. Just promise me that you'll be very careful," the girl made a shooing movement with her hand. Then she repeated the previous scene again; leaving her place she joined the two and kissed both firmly on their cheeks.

"Enjoy yourselves, my dears, and don't do anything I wouldn't have done. And remember, now that you know where I work, honey, I expect a full report on everything when the two of you return."

"Well, maybe we will leave a few details to ourselves," laughed Fleur, prettily blushing, "won't we, love?" she squeezed Harry's hand and the two took off still holding hands, keeping up their facade.

Deirdre's last words reached their subconscious already well on their way.

"_Go n-éirí an bóthar leat! Oh, stupid me, I completely forgot, Luna Lovegood sends her love to both of you._"

Startled, the two turned around in disbelief, but the Druid nudged them to go on with a barely visible, impatient gesture. Waving goodbye to their secret ally, the two made their way towards passport control, the first real hurdle on their road into a new life.


	11. Chapter 11

"I can't believe we've made it this far!" Having pulled Fleur's chair so that she could comfortably sit down at the table, Harry plopped down into his own chair opposite her. The black circles around the eyes of the young witch were a tell-tale sign of the last few rough days.

Fleur massaged her aching temples for a moment while she consulted the menu card. "Yes, you can say that, Harry. Although I have to admit that the guy at passport control must have sensed something wrong about us." Nervously flicking around the pages of the menu, she finally snapped it shut. "I feel like crap, to be honest. My stomach is still doing somersaults and I don't really think I could swallow a thing. So much for flying."

"I feel the same way, believe me. One would think I've gotten used to flying at Quidditch," laughed Harry, nodding understandingly, "but this landing was just about as bad as when I fell from my broom after being attacked by that Dementor in my third year." After a short pause, he added, "I think we will have to eat something, just to replenish our energy. It's only the beginning of the road and tomorrow will be the same tough day, I guess."

Closing his tired eyes, he leaned back on his chair, recalling the events of the past few hours.

_After saying goodbye to their new friend, they consulted the display hanging from the ceiling to check the correct departure gate, then moved towards Immigration and Passport Control. With their British - false - passports, control should have been a mere formality, but the young officer took his time. He meticulously read through their documents, flipped over each and every page, every now and then asking questions. Learning about Romania being their final destination, he suddenly became more alert and demanded whether they had an appropriate visa. Romania, being one of the East Block countries, was not a place British citizens frequented, he said, but after finding the visa issued in the Romanian Embassy and bearing all necessary stamps and signatures he had no more questions left. Handing over the passports, he wished the two a pleasant stay and called for the next passenger._

Mentally wiping the sweat from their forehead, the two shared a tired, but relieved smile, as they proceeded to the security check. Suddenly, Harry remembered something and stopped dead in his track, forcing Fleur to stop as well.

"Our wands!" he whispered in horror, answering her questioning look. "If they find our wands on us, we're goners."

"Relax, Harry," Fleur chided. "They won't show up on the scanner, they're made from wood. But if you don't trust it, I may have a solution for you. May I have yours?" Sitting down on a bench, Harry carefully handed Gabrielle's wand over to her, while she produced her own. Holding both wands, she briefly concentrated and the next moment victoriously raised her hands, each with a hairpin in it. Securing her silvery locks with the pins, she rose from the bench without saying a word and pulled up the boy in the same smooth movement. "Does that answer your question?" she asked with a playful twinkle in her eyes and Harry finally managed to close his gaping mouth.

"You know, Fleur, your repertoire of magic simply amazes me," he admitted honestly, looking deep into those blue eyes. The girl gave him a radiant smile as she vehemently shook her head. "Nonsense, Harry," she said, hooking her arm into his, "it's just that we each have our own specialties. I'm good at charms and transfigurations, you're good at flying and battle magic."

They passed the screening without a single question from the two bored security officers Deirdre had described as Voldemort's men. They must have been Dark wizards, Harry understood that from the strange tingling he was feeling around them; yet, the two took no notice of the young couple, so their true identities must have been well hidden, he concluded.

Once inside the duty free area, Harry cast a quick look at his battered clothes. Fleur understood his glance at once and pulled him towards a shop where they bought themselves a few pairs of jeans and a couple of T-shirts. Fleur insisted on buying sweatshirts and jackets as well; the Veela colony was up in the hills and it could be pretty cold there, she said.

"What is this credit card, by the way? Who is funding the account behind it?" asked Harry, _curiously eyeing the small piece of plastic he was holding in his hand, as they were standing in the queue at the cash desk._

"Yours and mine," she produced a similar card from her pouch, "are tied to my own account at Gringott's." Seeing the expression on the boy's face darken, she understood the reason behind it at once, before the boy even managed to utter a word. Even without using Legilimency she read him as an open book; she knew him too well for that.

Grabbing him forcefully on his arm, she turned him so that they would stand face to face. "Drop that nonsense, Harry," she hissed in an acid voice, while maintaining a perfect smile. "We are in zis shit togezer; we are running for our livez and 'onestly I couldn't care less about money at zis point. So whatever your objections are, stuff zem and shut up. It iz my inheritance and my parentz would 'ave wanted us to survive."

Harry felt a sudden chill creeping up his spine and lowered his gaze, shivering unpleasantly, When he raised his head, to his greatest horror he saw her eyes change again, resembling those avian eyes he had already seen once. Anger and power was radiating from the girl and all he could do was to nod in resignation. He saw Fleur relax immediately, her powers again perfectly under control.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she blushed sheepishly. "Bloody hormones, I can't seem to keep myself under control." In a split second, he boldly put his free arm around her waist, trying to ignore his rapidly quickening heartbeat at the feel of the close contact, and drew her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "It's completely understandable, Fleur, after all we've been through recently. I know I'm acting childish again; I guess I just need to grow up."

Smiling sadly, Fleur ran her long fingers across his mane. "You've grown up long ago, my dear, I guess the very same day you've first boarded the Hogwarts Express. I wish you could get your childhood back, for just a little bit more." Looking up, she met the glare of the impatiently waiting cashier and sent her a disarming smile. "I'm sorry, you were asking for the boarding passes?" she inquired in perfect French.

Once finished, they headed for the bathrooms, where they quickly changed and ditched their old clothes. Finishing first, Harry stepped outside, patiently waiting for Fleur, but she didn't take too long either. His heart skipped a beat when she saw the young witch emerge through the door. Feeling his glance on her, Fleur involuntarily smiled and slowly turned around - as if on a catwalk - providing him with a perfect view of everything. The new stonewashed jeans tightly embraced her perfect, long legs and her round bum, and Harry's mouth suddenly ran dry. "What's wrong with me?" he asked himself. "Am I under her Veela charms, all of a sudden?"

"Enjoying yourself, Mister?" The cackling laughter of his companion broke his train of thoughts. Flushing red, he examined the stone floor under his feet, when a light, but steady force forced his chin upwards.

"Tarzan - boy," pointed Fleur at his chest, "Jane - girl", she pointed at herself. "Jane is flattered that Tarzan finds her attractive. What?" she looked at him with a questioning glance. "Never seen or read Tarzan?"

"Where?" snapped the boy irritatedly. "In the cupboard under the stairs I was privileged to call my home ten long years? On the hospital bed after being beaten up by Dudley and his gang?"

Seeing tears collecting in her blue eyes, he already felt sorry for his words. He gladly would have taken them back but the harm was already done. Something snapped inside the girl and she broke out in crying.

Awkwardly hugging her to himself, Harry tried to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Fleur, please forgive me. I didn't want to make you cry." He felt her nod against his shoulder and she raised her head. "When I learned about your so-called childhood, Harry, I promised myself to make them pay for everything they'd done to you. By now they are most probably dead anyway; I can't imagine Voldemort not having gone after them. I know I shouldn't be saying that, after all they were your relatives, but somehow I can't grieve about them." A short breeze; her eyes, up to a second ago _red from crying, now smiling again, her hair lying again in a perfect ponytail._

Screwing up his face in a grimace, Harry took a deep breath. "Neither can I, Fleur. I don't feel anything. It could have been even worse, though; I could have ended up on the street or just like Tom Riddle, in an orphanage."

"Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed that, Harry!" Fleur looked serious, but Harry only annoyedly scoffed. "Don't start about Dumbledore, please. Had he really my interests in mind, he would have sent me to normal people capable of real love. His idea of that "blood protection" thing never worked; I never considered that place my home after I went to Hogwarts. It couldn't even protect me from my so-called family. He never cared about me. Nobody ever cared about me before the Weasleys took me in as a stray dog, and he denied even that little happiness from me by sending me back to Little Whinging for the summer."

He pronounced the last sentences slowly, with a chilling edge in his voice, and now it was Fleur's turn to shiver, finally understanding the complete truth. Yet, she said nothing, only squeezed his fingers with an incredible strength so that the boy involuntarily hissed from pain.

This same moment, boarding was announced for their flight. Still holding hands, they ran down the corridor to the gate, handed over their boarding cards to the flight attendant and fifteen minutes later they were already sitting in the old Fokker jet. Their hands never parted during the flight, a sign of their fates intertwined, of their friendship stronger than life.

The very moment the airplane started taxiing towards the runway, the already familiar voice of Deirdre rang in their head again.

"Fleur, daughter of Caridwen, and Harry, our fates are in your hand. I prayed to Lugh and Esus so that their divine wisdom may guard you on your way. Go n-éirí an bóthar leat!"

"Daughter of Caridwen?" Harry repeated questioningly. Fleur, however, was ready with the answer. "Caridwen is one of the goddesses of the pagan - Druid - religion, Harry. Among others, she's the goddess of the Elements: Fire, Water and Air. Myself being a part-Veela..."

"And a Fire Elemental..." nodded Harry understandingly. "And who is this Lugh and Esus?"

"Lugh is 'the many-skilled' God, and as far as I can remember Esus would be the God of Magic," replied the young witch readily. Harry sadly smiled at her. "Scary how you just reminded me of Hermione."

Loudly sniffing, Fleur nodded silently, then placed her head in the crook of his neck, snuggling closer to him. The two fell instantly asleep, only to wake up when the plane, already on its descent towards the airport, was vehemently shaken by a few hard wind blows.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur?"

Harry snapped his eyes open and shook his head, apologetically smiling at the young waitress, patiently waiting for him. "Uhm, sorry, I must have dozed off."

Hearing him speak English, the waitress immediately switched to English as well, her melodic speech heavily accented, but perfectly understandable. "Are you ready to order, Sir?"

"I think I would like the meatballs in tomato sauce, thick-cut French fries and a glass of... Which beer would you recommend?" Harry expectantly looked at the young girl. She drew slightly closer and lowered her voice. "For you, I would recommend La Rochefort Bleu. It's strong, masculine, yet sweet, a perfect match. Don't forget, you are in Belgium; we know here all about beer and men."

Fleur watched as the waitress was openly flirting with her companion and smirked inwardly. She of course picked up the signals the other girl was emitting and perfectly understood her body language. She must have understood somehow that Fleur and Harry didn't really belong together, once she had chosen such an open strategy. For only a split second, Harry seemed to have been lost in the depths of those huge, black eyes and mesmerized by those soft, pink lips. Then, he shrugged and drew away from the girl, just the slightest bit, yet giving her an unmistakable signal that her fun was over.

"Then I would like a bottle of that, please," he said in a forced casual tone and Fleur could have sworn she'd seen a shadow darken his face. Clearly disappointed, nevertheless wearing a perfect smile, the waitress collected the menu cards. "Coming right up," she announced and, swaying her hips only just by a hair more frivolously than necessary, left their table.

"Will you still deny that you attract girls, my dear Harry?" asked Fleur in a casual tone, absentmindedly toying with her napkin. Harry almost choked on his mineral water. "Excuse me?" he inquired sharply.

"This bimbo here has just shamelessly offered herself to you. She wouldn't at all have minded if you'd ravaged her here on the table while I was watching the two of you having fun," smiled Fleur, enjoying the boy's embarrassment. Now Harry did choke on his drink; he started coughing, water pouring through his nostrils, until Fleur's whispered 'Anapneo' finally gave him a chance to take a few deep breaths. Wiping his face off his napkin, he cast a murderous glance at the girl. "Did you pick it up with your infamous Veela senses?" he asked, just a tad bit too sharply, but Fleur didn't take offense, only calmly stood his glance. Understanding he'd been too bold, Harry backed off quickly.

"I don't think I will ever be able to look at any girl again THAT way," he admitted; that shadow overcasting his face again. Fleur reached over the table and took his hand. "I am in the same boat, Harry. We both are empty inside, both are grieving for those we loved. Yet, it takes a huge amount of will power to stay indifferent in such a situation; I admit that even I had trouble trying NOT to concentrate on her cleavage."

Seeing the boy's eyes grow huge, she slightly flushed. "What?" Now Harry understood that the Veela was embarrassed, something one doesn't see too often, and, clearly enjoying himself, grinned at her like the Cheshire cat. "Fleur, did you..."

"Once, allright?" the girl snapped. Rolling her eyes, she took a deep breath. "I had a girlfriend once, back at Beauxbatons. That was the most wonderful time of my life before I met Bill. I loved her, I fed off her beauty, I was blossoming. Then, she graduated and a few months later moved abroad with her parents. That was the reason why I volunteered for the Tournament; I simply had to get away from the place where everything reminded me of her."

In the mean time their drinks arrived. Fleur's Kriek, a dark red beer in something resembling a big wine glass on a short, thick leg; Harry's Rochefort, a heavy-looking dark brown one, however, came in a glass reminding them of the Goblet of Fire. Involuntarily shrugging, Harry tugged on the waitress' sleeve. "Could you please get rid of this glass, please? I don't want to see it or hold it in my hand. Please, any other glass, only not this one!"

From his rapid breathing the waitress understood something was wrong. In her job she'd already come across a few strange wishes of guests she had been serving. So, nodding silently, she simply picked up the glass and left, only to return a minute later with a completely different one, with freshly tapped beer inside. Harry cast a sad smile at the girl.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle. And... I apologise for.. you know... a few minutes ago. My fiancèe died just two days ago and I'm not really in an adventurous mood."

The waitress stood perplexed for a moment. Then she spoke in a hoarse voice. "It's me who must apologise, Sir. I'm immensely sorry for your loss." All of a sudden, she leaned in and planted a firm kiss on the boy's cheek, then, completely embarrassed, fled the table, Fleur's glance drilling holes in her back.

Silently raising their glasses for the perished, the two drank from their beer. The Rochefort was strong and heavy, much stronger than Butterbeer; Harry felt it hit him in the head almost instantaneously. "How's yours?" he asked Fleur, seeing her nodding satisfiedly after taking another long swig.

"Delicious," she slowly licked the foam from her lips, Harry unable to tear his eyes off this incredibly sensual sight. "They add cherry during the brewing process and it gives just a but of sweet-sour taste," she explained, completely unaware of the effect she'd just made on the boy. Luckily, their food arrived and Harry started to tuck in, just happy to have something to distract him. Fleur, however, only picked at her salad, absentmindedly looking out of the window every now and then.

Harry felt the sudden change in her demeanor and noisily put down his fork.

"I know you're missing Bill, just like I'm missing Ginny. It's hard to go on with our lives after we'd lost everybody we loved. I can feel your grief and it pains me to see you like this," he said softly. The girl silently nodded, still staring out of the window, into a spot known only to her.

"Your daughter, however, needs you. You have to eat something, Fleur," Harry pressed on gently. She turned her face towards him, the twinkle slowly returning to her eyes. "I'm not afraid, Harry," she whispered dreamily, locking eyes with him. "I've - we've - got you with us. I'm not afraid," she repeated.

Reaching for her fork, she snagged a meatball covered in thick, greasy sauce from Harry's plate and, making a wry grimace, curiously eyed, then sniffed at it. "Let's see if it tastes as awful as it looks like," she announced. "Honestly, I don't know how you Britons can eat all this disgusting stuff."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry left a ten-pound note on the tray after having paid for the bill with his credit card and flashed a generic smile to the young waitress as they left the restaurant. Climbing up the stairs - for some reason Fleur didn't like the idea of taking the elevator - to the third floor, Harry inserted his key card into the slot and waited for the light to go green, then opened the door and entered the room, his wand at ready. Quickly scanning the interior and performing a few basic level intruder detection spells, he saw the room was safe and their bags were also, seemingly untouched, in the place they had left them just an hour ago. So, he signalled Fleur to come in and closed and secured the door behind them.

The girl shook her head in disbelief. "So much for being slightly paranoid. It's not a wise thing to use magic in a Muggle place, Harry."

The boy took in a defending position. "I'm not paranoid, Fleur, only practical. What if those security guards alerted Voldemort's men here in the country? Besides, I used only untraceable magic. Bill taught us how to hide our magical signature and in certain cases, how to fake someone else's." The girl gulped heavily, but said nothing; no words could bring him back, she knew that.

Heavily plopping down on the bed, she sighed, closing her burning from tiredness eyes. "I think I'll take a shower and then go to sleep, if I can fall asleep, that is. I'm worn out and I guess you are as well." Rummaging in their bag, Harry raised his head. "I'm afraid we haven't packed any toothbrushes and toothpaste, Fleur." Frowning in concentration, he looked around the room, until he found the telephone on the desk. Consulting the telephone directory, he dialled 0 and talked briefly to the receptionist. Not even five minutes later, someone knocked at the door and Harry answered it. It was the bellboy; in a small package he brought two toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste and even a package of disposable razors. Upon Harry's question he proudly answered that these were courtesy items and gladly accepted the small heap of change Harry fished out from his jeans pocket.

Locking the door carefully, Harry called out "Here's a toothbrush for you, Fleur," and turned back to her, only to find her standing in the center of the room, barefooted, wearing her T-shirt and a pair of simple white knickers. Swallowing heavily, he turned away from her again.

"Harry, Harry, no need to be so chivalrous. You've seen me in less than that this morning," chided Fleur.

"That was different," mumbled Harry, "I had no other choice. Besides, I don't want Bill to get the idea that I'm checking out his wife, not speaking of the fact that I am still Tarzan and you are still Jane and I do find you attractive even if I shouldn't even think of it." Flushing red, he suddenly snapped his mouth shut upon realizing what he'd just said.

"First of all," Fleur moved closer to the boy, "I think I would be sad if I had all of a sudden lost my attractiveness, so your compliment is very welcome. Secondly, Bill trusts you and that's enough. Now, may I have my toothbrush and toothpaste, please?"

Not letting his gaze wander below neck level, he handed the small package over to the girl, silently cursing his healthy teenage libido. Trying to engage his mind with something else, he randomly pulled out the drawers of the desk - he even found a bilingual Bible in one of them, looked into the small fridge with those extremely expensive miniature bottles of spirits, finally went back to their bag and after a minute of search produced a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. Sitting on the bed, he patiently waited for the girl to finish her shower, when a sudden thought hit him.

There was only one, king-size bed in the room. The one he was sitting on.

"No way I'm going to sleep in one bed with her," he thought, feverishly trying to think up a solution. First of all, he dialled the reception again, but the lady at the desk patiently explained him that the hotel had no empty double rooms they could occupy. At this point Fleur, already dressed into her nightie, thankfully somewhat longer than her previous T-shirt, emerged from the bathroom, bringing a faint scent of spring - fresh flowers and freshly cut grass - with her and the boy's nostrils widened as he drew in that delicious smell.

A slight breeze fluttered around the room as Fleur shook her head; in the next moment her hair, already dry, lay around her neck and shoulders in impeccable waves. Gracefully sliding under the covers, she emitted a satisfied sigh and expectantly looked at the boy.

"The bathroom is all yours, Harry, once you're done enjoying the show." Harry huffed in annoyance, but the playful wink in her eyes chilled his anger when he understood he had been royally had. However, he didn't miss his chance to close the bathroom door slightly louder than necessary, earning a cackle from the girl.

Ten minutes later, somewhat refreshed, Harry returned from the bathroom, only to find Fleur randomly zapping through the TV channels. Summoning his wand from his jacket, he was just about to begin casting a few Conjuring spells, when the girl's voice startled him, bringing him out of concentration.

"What do you think you are doing, Harry?"

"Why conjuring a second bed, of course," he answered without hesitation. Fleur vehemently shook her head. "No magic, remember?" Nodding approvingly, Harry placed his wand on the night stand and grabbing the second pillow and cover from the bed, he started arranging them on the floor besides the bed. Fleur was having none of that, however; swinging her feet off the bed, she sat on the edge, sending him a less-than-friendly glare.

"What's all this supposed to mean?"

"Listen, Fleur," started Harry, "I really can't sleep in one bed with you. It's already awkward enough."

"No, you listen to me, Harry. My husband has just died and it doesn't seem as if I'm going to trick you into my bed and rape you any time soon," the girl hissed. "Of course, if you'd prefer, you can sleep in the bed and I can sleep on the floor."

"No fucking way!" protested Harry, not noticing the slip of his tongue.

"In that case, move your sorry arse into the bed before I hex you into next century," spat Fleur. "Do you want me to swear a Wizarding oath that I'm not going to compromise your position, poor, little, defenseless boy?"

"No magic, remember?" Harry spat back, shooting her an equally venomous glare. The two eyed each other for a short while, then both burst into a laughter.

"You are such a big child," scolded Fleur him playfully, when he, finally got into bed, laying on his back and staying as close to the edge as possible. "I told you I wouldn't bite."

Harry shifted in a few inches, carefully avoiding any contact - physical or eye-contact - with her. Fleur only rolled her eyes, but said nothing, only switched off the lights and the TV-set. The two just lay there in complete darkness, unmoving, for a short while.

It was Harry who broke the awkward silence. "Don't get me wrong, please, but I..."

"I understand..."

"Fleur, I'm... I'm really sorry for..."

"Enough, Harry, I said it was fine. No need to apologize for your completely normal, human reaction upon seeing a young woman wearing next to nothing."

Harry was grateful to the darkness around them; no way could she see that he was flushed beetroot red. "How is your daughter?" he slowly asked, just to sail away from dangerous waters.

"She's fine, I guess," Fleur said dreamily. "She didn't enjoy flying twice today, as far as I could tell." Abruptly grabbing Harry's hand, she gently pressed it against her abdomen. Harry almost jumped up from the unexpected contact with her skin through the thin fabric, just above her knickers, and was just about to pull away his hand, when he felt a tiniest movement against his skin.

"That's right, sweetheart, welcome Uncle Harry properly," smiled Fleur into the darkness. Completely taken aback by the intimacy of the moment, his mouth dry, Harry could only whisper his question, "Is that really her?"

"Damn right it is," Fleur replied proudly and started gently caressing her abdomen, to calm the baby down, which gave Harry the possibility to slowly remove his hand. Listening to her singing a lullaby in her native French, he suddenly recalled that wonderful, sunny day, when he lay on the grass with Ginny snuggled up in his arms in the blissful aftermath of their first time together, his fingers trailing the contours of her sweet body, and couldn't suppress a few silent sobs. His thoughts were interrupted only when he felt Fleur shift on the bed. She shuffled right next to him, laid her head on his chest and pulled his left arm around her, before he even could say a word.

"She's asleep now. Good night, Harry." He felt her fingers gently tracing his cheek, her lips brushing against the other and the next moment the girl was already firmly asleep.

"Good night, Fleur," he whispered back, and then, tears came again.

** ** **

Harry stirred awake shortly after six a.m., only to find himself in a somewhat compromising position. He was lying on his left side, with Fleur spooned up tightly against him, his right hand draped over the girl. It didn't at all help his embarrassment that his body was vividly reacting to her proximity. Carefully untangling himself, he slid out of the bed and arranged the covers around her again. She didn't stir; Harry watched her for a moment as she was peacefully sleeping; a drop of her saliva in the corner of her mouth, curved up in a content smile. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, he closed the door behind himself and took a few deep breaths.

"What have you got yourself into, Harry Potter?" he asked his reflection in the mirror, but it couldn't give him any of the answers he was longing to get. So he, quickly, in order not to wake the still sleeping girl, took a cold, two-minute shower, then brushed his teeth. Tearing up the package with the disposable razors, he randomly picked out one and, quickly soaping his face, shaved, painfully wincing at every stroke of the useless blade.

He took the phone and, praying the wire would be long enough, returned to the bathroom. Dialling the restaurant, he ordered breakfast for two in his hushed voice, asking them to leave the tray before the door. Summoning his wand, he cast a few minor spells refreshing his yesterday's clothes and quickly changed into them, then he just sat there and waited patiently. Time was something he still had in abundance, time to recall the last few day's events, time to think about the next steps to be taken.

Two muffled knocks gave away that breakfast arrived, and Harry carefully opened the door, getting the tray inside. He picked a roll and a fried sausage and ate them, and cast a Stasis charm on the rest of the food. Then he sat back on the bed, watching the sleeping girl, his eyes involuntarily drowning in her beauty.

His wristwatch chimed seven and he decided he would have to wake her up.

Gently brushing away a stray silver lock from her right eye, he leaned over her.  
"Fleur, Fleur, wake up, please. It's already seven and we better get on the move," he whispered into her ear. The girl's eyes fluttered open and she slowly stretched, contently purring. "Morning Harry. Have you been up long?" she asked.

"A quarter of an hour maybe," Harry lied. "Did you sleep well?"

The girl flashed a honest smile at him. "Oh yes, I had a very nice pillow." Harry groaned in embarrassment, but Fleur only laughed. "Really, I did sleep well. There's absolutely nothing bad about that." She sat up in the bed and stretched again, her full, round breasts, barely restrained by the thin fabric, gently bouncing in the process.

"You're trying to kill me," groaned Harry and, trying to cover his blush, stood and produced the tray loaded with their breakfast.

"Croissants!" yelled suddenly the girl clapping with her hands in sheer excitement and hungrily devoured one before Harry could count to three. He only smiled at her antics and, shaking his head at her unspoken question, sat back besides her and reached for a sausage, as if signalling her to go ahead with the second croissant. She made short work of it as well, then reached for her cup with the still steaming hot coffee Harry had just poured out for her.

A few minutes later, the tray was empty. Harry produced a napkin and carefully wiped the crumbs from Fleur's face and neck, then stood, ready to remove the tray from the bed, when the girl reached out with her hand and, pulling him closer, planted a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"Thank you, my protector-in-a-not-so-shiny-armor," she said simply, before Harry could utter a word. Feeling him tense up, she removed her hand from his neck, letting the still speechless boy go.

"The bathroom is all yours," said Harry hoarsely, when he finally found his voice. "I asked the reception to prepare the bill by 8 am, and there's a shuttle bus going to the terminal at 8:15, so there's no need to hurry. Take your time. It's all we have now." 


	13. Chapter 13

Harry listened to the noise of the water running in the bathroom and took a few deep breaths, attempting to clear his head from the images of her beautiful companion and the disorderly mess of thoughts flickering around in his mind in random order. "Thank God I survived this night," he groaned inwardly, desperately trying to ignore his still somewhat wound-up state.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, he managed to switch on the radio function of the alarm clock he had found on the nightstand and randomly tuned in on a few stations, just to kill the idle minutes of waiting. The DJ rattled a few sentences in rapid French and announced a new song, and he was surprised to recognize that old, familiar tune. He involuntarily smiled as Nancy Sinatra sung the first two lines of the song he had heard hundreds of times before.

_"Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring  
My summer wine is really made from all these things"_

His upper body swaying to the rhythm of the music, he joined into Lee Hazelwood's first verse, at first in a hushed voice, then, as the song went on, more and more confidently. He had a rather pleasant, soft baritone, somewhat unsteady in the lower registers, but it couldn't spoil the pleasure he was suddenly experiencing from singing. He felt as if he were some place else, away from the horrors and suffering of the last few days and he smiled. For the first time in days.

_"I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled too  
A song that I had only sang to just a few  
She saw my silver spurs and said let's pass some time  
And I will give to you summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wine"_

Throughout the interlude, he closed his eyes, his soul flying freely on the wings of music. However, when the next verse started, another voice joined in completely startling him and when he turned around, he saw Fleur, wrapped in a huge bath towel only, smiling at him as she picked up Nancy's part, singing the next stanza.

_"Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring  
My summer wine is really made from all these things  
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time  
And I will give to you summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wine"_

She had a soft, velvety voice, flying freely in the high registers, touching the very depth of his soul. It felt as a gentle caress of the wind sweeping away his pain and relieving him from his earthly burdens for a short aeon of time. He made an involuntary step towards the girl, locking eyes with her. Completely drawn into the music, the next verse he sang only to her, their eyes never breaking contact.

_"My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not speak  
I tried to get up but I couldn't find my feet  
She reassured me with an unfamiliar line  
And then she gave to me more summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wine"_

Another step closer, another step separating them. Another stanza in Fleur's hauntingly beautiful voice; Harry's heart skipping another beat as he felt the blood rush through his veins and a sudden warmth creeping up his cheeks.

_"Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring  
My summer wine is really made from all these things  
Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time  
And I will give to you summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wine"_

Now they slowly reached for each other's hands as they jointly sung the last two verses, their eyes full of tears, but with a tiny spark of hope burning inside. Their voices, supporting and completing each other, intertwined and rose up to the heavens, carried far away by the wind.

_"When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes  
My silver spurs were gone my head felt twice its size  
She took my silver spurs a dollar and a dime  
And left me cravin' for more summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wine_

Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring  
My summer wine is really made from all these things  
Take off those silver spurs and help me pass the time  
And I will give to you my summer wine  
Oohh-oh summer wïne"

Breathing heavily, they closed their eyes and their lips found each other in a chaste kiss. None of them deepened it, yet it was an immensely sensual moment, their hearts beating rapidly, their magic stirring. Then, the music ended and together with it ended the magic of the moment and they, rapidly blinking with their eyes, stepped back into reality, letting go of each others' hands in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Fleur, I shouldn't have..." stuttered Harry, realizing what just had happened.

"I never knew you could sing so well. Come to think of it I never heard you sing at all," smiled the girl through her tears, deliberately ignoring his vague attempt of an excuse.

"Not to mention that I haven't had too many reasons in the last few years?" the boy snapped back, but Fleur saw there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

She looked at him with a serious expression on her face. "I need to thank you, Harry." Seeing that the boy wanted to interject, she held up her hand. "A few moments ago, you gave me a very valuable gift. These last few days, I was silently praying that not all beauty, not all hope had died from this world, on contrary to the horrors we had recently been through. You have just proven that my prayers were not all in vain. So... thank you for keeping up my spirits..."

Unable to utter a word, Harry silently spread his arms and hugged her to himself, for the moment forgetting about her state of clothing, gently laying his hands on the small of her back. As she rested her hands on the back of his neck, he could clearly smell the same faint scent of flower and grass he had smelled on her last night. His core reacted violently to the proximity of hers; strong electrical surges were running through his muscles and nerves and he could feel untamed magic emanating from the girl, causing the small hairs on his neck stand and his skin tingle. As they stood there, they were a rock in the middle of a stormy see, a rock strong enough not to succumb to the relentless waves washing over it.

"How come you know this song, Harry?" asked Fleur out of the blue as their breathing slowly returned to normal and they - somewhat reluctantly - let go of each other and she went back to rummaging in their bags for a fresh set of clothes.

"You know Mrs. Figg, my Squib neighbour back in Little Whinging, right?" started Harry, turning away from her, unasked, in order to give her some privacy to dress. He didn't really expect an answer from her, so he simply continued. "Well, she would take me in every now and then when nobody was home or when I needed an escape from Dudley's gang. There was an old turntable in her living room that we would switch on every now and then and listen to some old songs she liked. This was her favourite LP; she used to say it reminded her of her husband who passed away in 1970. Anyway, I heard this song many times so I guess it just popped up now when I heard it on the radio. But you, Fleur, you truly have an amazing voice. Where did you learn to sing so beautifully?"

"My Mum insisted on giving Gabrielle and myself proper, old-fashioned education, suitable for the children of an ancient wizarding family. Gabrielle was always more artistic; she played the violin and loved ballet, I took piano and singing lessons," Fleur responded slightly out of breath, trying to squeeze herself into her tight-fit jeans. Soon, she wouldn't be able to wear one of these. "I was taught singing by an elderly lady who previously sang in _La Scala_ in Milan."

Harry nodded understandingly; he knew perfectly what La Scala was. Hermione was boasting about the operas she'd seen there with her parents during the Yule break all January.

"One day, I asked her if she could teach me Summer Wine. See, this song was played on my parents' wedding and I wanted to surprise them on their anniversary," Fleur finished her tale, emitting a satisfied sigh as she finally managed to button her resisting jeans.

Her eyes became misty again as she remembered her family and her past life she had left behind forever, but with an incredible strength of will quickly overpowered herself. "You may turn around now, Harry, I'm done," she said in a forcibly casual voice, quickly finishing packing, and handed the boy their bags, which he shrunk to a pocketable size. "Let's get out of here before we miss our flight."

Neither of them looked back at the room as the door closed behind them with a loud "_bang_". 


	14. Chapter 14

The first thing that struck the two in the Bucharest airport was the immense feeling of poverty present everywhere. Apart from a few impeccably, against the last mode, dressed VIP's and their equally expensively dressed and covered in gold wives and their bodyguards, seemingly west-bound, the majority of the passengers – not that there was many of them – was poorly dressed and it seemed as if they were continuously watching their back.

On the plane, Fleur told Harry a few words about Romania. It was ruled by a dictator called Ceausescu and his family, who built a true personality cult around himself, calling himself the "Genius of the Carpathians". Bathing in money, they were completely uninterested in the problems of the masses, the endless queues for basic products, the regular water and gas outages throughout the country. Those daring to open their mouths quickly disappeared in one of the not-so-secret concentration camps, thanks to the all-seeing eye of the Securitate, the Secret Police, having one quarter of the adult population one or another way working for them.

The immigration officer took her time with the two British passports, something that she not everyday had the chance of seeing. She methodically flipped open every page, checked every stamp, meticulously controlled the visa under UV light. Comparing photo-Fleur with the girl, she addressed her in poor English.

"What you do in Romania, Miss?"

Fleur flashed her a perfect smile, answering in French. "Nous visitons ma familie distante a Timişoara." Gently extending her mind towards her, the witch already found out that the immigration officer spoke good French and indeed, she was right. Happy that she didn't have to struggle with her broken English any more, the officer eagerly switched over to a quite acceptable, although heavily accented French.

"Tres interessant. Vous avez familie a Romanie?" She scribbled something down and made a barely perceptible nod to someone. Harry, nevertheless, could distinctively make out the gesture and he, carefully as to not give himself away, turned his head around, his hand grabbing his wand under the jacket, and apologetically smiled at the patiently waiting passengers. "Sorry 'bout that." He couldn't see anything suspicious, so he turned back, only to catch the end of Fleur's answer, accompanied by an uncharacteristic giggle "...marié avec cette femme horrible!"

The officer laughed and, stamping their passports, returned them, wishing them a pleasant stay, not even bothering about Harry. When the two left, a small, bald-headed man, dressed in a shabby, long overcoat moved out of the shadows and went after the two, completely unaware that they knew perfectly well they were being followed.

"Where now?" asked Harry when they exited the terminal.

"At first, we have to find a bank and change some money, then we take a taxi to the railway station and buy two tickets to Timişoara," answered Fleur slowly, making sure that their follower could hear every word she said.

Harry understandingly nodded and lowered his voice. "Needless to ask that we won't go to this … Timişoara, right? Where did you learn conspiring like that, Fleur?"

"Life," the girl replied curtly, her eyes scanning the neon boards until she, finally, found what she was looking for. Taking Harry's hand, she pulled him in the direction of the signpost showing the bank, their shadow faithfully following them.

A few minutes later they were outside the building. For the casual observer it seemed that the two youngsters were lost as they were walking past the patiently awaiting taxis. In reality, Harry was performing Legilimency on the taxi drivers to find someone who spoke English or French and whom they might be able to trust. Finally he stopped at a relatively clean Lada 2106 and knocked at the driver's window, signalling him to open the door.

"Excuse me, do you speak English?" he asked slowly, already knowing the answer.

"A bit," answered the driver, carefully folding his newspaper and expectantly looking into the face of the young man. For some strange reason, his honest face reminded Harry of Remus; he instinctively knew he could trust this man.

"We need to go to the railway station where we can catch a train to Timişoara," Harry explained further, hoping that he pronounce the name of the city correctly.

The man nodded approvingly. Slowly filtering the words through his teeth, he pointed to the back seat. "Then we'll go to Gara de Nord and from there you can take an express train to Temesvár."

Harry shook his head. "Excuse me? We need to go to Timişoara, not the city you have just mentioned." The man, however, just smiled. "It's the same city. Get in, I will explain everything underway." Once his passengers got seated, he started the engine, and it, coughing and sputtering, came alive, emitting a huge plume of smoke. Fleur made a small movement with her wand under her jacket, covering the license plate of the car with a blindfold.

"My name is Mihai, but I prefer Mihály as I'm a native Hungarian," introduced the driver himself, keeping his eye on the rear view mirror, seeing that another taxi left the stand and started following him closely.

"My name is Iain and this is my girlfriend Mary," Harry returned the courtesy. Curtly nodding, the man suddenly took a sharp right and looked into the mirror again.

"Seems that someone is very much interested why two British tourists want to go to Temesvár," Mihai remarked dryly, seeing that their tail was still following them. Seeing that the youngsters were just about to object, he held up his right hand. "Temesvár is how we Hungarians call Timişoara. See, it lies in a part of the country we call Erdély, which you probably know as Transylvania, that until 1920, until the Treaty of Trianon was Hungarian territory." Harry absentmindedly nodded; he vaguely remembered something from his school times.

Fleur snuggled closer to Harry and took his hand; the tarmac of the road was in bad condition and the car jumped up and down when the driver was unable to maneuver the car around the multitude of holes. "Aren't you afraid to tell us all this, Mihai?" she asked. "Won't you get into trouble for that?"

The driver met her glance in the mirror and smiled at the girl. "Somehow," he whispered, "I have managed to stay out of trouble so far. Holy George has been taking good care of me." He crossed himself the Orthodox way, from right to left, and pointed with his index finger at the small wooden icon hanging on a thread from the rear view mirror.

"If you only knew..." muttered Harry under his breath, his eyes filling with tears, as he remembered another dragon tamer so close to his heart. They couldn't find Charlie Weasley's body on the battlefield; another of his brothers lost forever.

The rest of the way there was silence in the car, apart from the driver's occasional swearing and his jovial exclamation fifteen minutes later, as he pulled into the parking lot of Gara du Nord. "Here's your railway station. That will be 75 lei."

Harry and Fleur exchanged a swift glance and nodded. Two pounds? Quickly making up his mind, Harry picked two 100-lei banknotes from the small heap of money they got in the bank after exchanging 200 pounds and, moving forward on his seat, handed the fare over to Mihai. The driver started to object about it being too much, but Harry leaned closer.

"Is there another exit from the building?" He had to repeat the question, as the driver struggled catching his excited speech. Slowly pocketing the money, he smiled at the young man and nodded understandingly. "There is a small yellow-brick church two streets behind the station. I will be waiting for you there in ten minutes."

"Come, Mary!" Harry offered his hand to his 'girlfriend' and they made their way towards the ticket office. From the corner of his eye he saw their tail getting out of the other taxi and following them, the driver firing up the engine and driving off the parking lot, while Mihai comfortably unfolded a newspaper and started reading, not taking any further notice of the two.

"Have you gone mad, Harry?" Fleur hissed between her teeth.

"We are not going to this Timişoara, correct?" He smiled back at her, his eyes continuously scanning the building, searching for the tail. "If we were to go there, you would never have told it to the immigration officer, right?" The girl nodded, giving him a point for his clear logic.

"So, we buy two tickets to Timişoara, get rid of this pathetic Pettigrew-copy and hire Mihai to drive us wherever this Veela-colony of yours is," Harry finished his plan, abruptly stopping at the ticket desk.

While standing in the queue, Harry turned around, locking his eyes with the Securitate-agent. His message was clear: I know who you are, now get me if you can. The man nodded, as if accepting the challenge. Whispering something into Fleur's ears – politely, but abruptly ending the girl's objections – he stepped out of the queue and moved towards the toilets.

Entering the rather dirty loo, he instantaneously felt sorry for not being able to cast a Bubble-head charm to get rid of the stale stink of urine. He quickly relieved himself when he felt sudden movement behind his back and something hit him hard in the back of his head. Were he not able to jump away, instinctively feeling the attack coming, his neck would have been broken. He painfully flinched and slowly reached into his jacket for his wand, while his attacker pulled a rather large knife, the blade maybe 6-7 inches long and pulled his mouth into a bloodthirsty smile, baring his yellowish, disgusting teeth in the process.

Then, the man made a quick step forward, the knife pointing at Harry's heart. The young wizard made a side-step, in the same movement finished pulling his wand and sent the strongest nonverbal Stunner he could muster into the man, causing him to fly into the opposite tiled wall as a rag-doll. Quickly checking his pulse for life-signs, he pointed his wand at the man's temple, performing a strong Memory charm at his opponent. When he would awake, he wouldn't remember anything from what had happened; he could consider himself lucky if he remembered his own name.

Washing his hands off, he exited the loo, only to find himself face to face with a raging Fleur.

"You could have had yourself killed, you irresponsible prat!" She spat, her hands trembling, but her eyes relieved that the boy was all right.

"But I haven't, have I?" Harry quickly answered, soothingly putting his hand on her shoulder. "It's OK, Fleur, really. I Stunned him and modified his memory and that's all." Shaking his head, he winced painfully and Fleur saw his face being overcast by the sudden surge of pain. Resting her forehead against his, she gently massaged the boy's aching temple for a while, until the pain had subsided. "Please don't do that again, hear me?" she whispered, her lips gently tickling his ear. "I wouldn't survive if I had to lose you as well..."

"I promise." It was all Harry could muster, realizing he had been acting impulsively and putting them both into danger. Now, mentally replaying the previous scene, he clearly understood what he had done wrong and swore himself never to make that stupid mistake again that had almost cost him his life.

"Good, let's find that church and hope that Mihai is still there," smiled Fleur, giving a quick peck on his nose and pulling the boy towards the back entrance.

Mihai was indeed there as he promised, carelessly smoking a stinking, weird-looking cigarette, again behind his newspaper. When Harry knocked at the window, he methodically folded the newspaper into four and threw his cigarette on the pavement. Nodding the two to get in, he started the engine.

"Where?" was his curt question. Harry, somewhat lost, looked at Fleur, who shifted forward on her seat. "Do you know how to get to Bistriţa?"

"Of course I know!" Mihai drew up his nose. "I spent each and every summer with my grandmother in the Bistriţa hills. I know every tree, every path there."

Fleur questioningly raised her eyebrows. "Really? Your grandmother lived there up in the hills?"

Mihai, for the first time, turned back to the girl with interest. "You know," he started, "for some strange reason you remind me of her. I had somewhere a photo with her about your age. Same colour of hair, same eyes. When she died, she was ninety-seven but didn't look more than forty. Everyone in the village thought she was my mother."

Fleur drew in a sharp breath as realization dawned on her. Grandmother was a Veela, that's for sure. So he does know where the colony might be.

"See, no one liked her in the village," Mihai continued unexpectedly. "When someone would come across her, he would spit behind his back and make this sign..." He raised his fist, his index finger and pink pointing upwards. "They would call her 'striga'..."

"... a woman who turns herself into terrible birds of prey, having huge talons and misshaped heads ..." Fleur, as if in a haze, picked up his train of thought and Harry slowly understood. Obeying the girl's murderous glare, however, he said nothing, only nodded slowly.

"You seem to know quite much about our mythology, Miss," Mihai's eyes smiled at the girl. Fleur made a shooing gesture with her hand. "I study ancient history at the university. Mythologies are my favourites." She didn't even have to lie. She did study History and Magical Creatures at Beauxbatons, so she perfectly knew what strigoi were. Being one of them, she also exactly knew who strigoi were.

"Very well, we'll go to Bistriţa then," Mihai decided. "Only, it will cost you two thousand lei and you'll have to pay for the petrol as it's expensive and more and more problematic to come by." Seeing the two passengers nod in accordance, he barked out a short laughter. "Of course you can't imagine what it is like, standing eight hours in a queue for petrol, can you?"

Stopping the car at a telephone booth, he got out and made a short call. "I phoned my neighbour that I was taking a few passengers to the Black Sea and asked her to feed my dog. Of course she will call the Secu right now, that's the reason why she even has a telephone, but that is not a problem," he said when he returned. "It's about 500 kilometres, so with a little bit of luck we will be there by midnight. The roads are bad, so I can't drive too fast."


	15. Chapter 15

Even with Mihai's expert driving, it took more than half an hour of maneuvering until they reached the ring road around the Romanian capital. Their driver did his best to avoid the big holes in the tarmac, but every now and then Fleur flinched painfully when a wheel of the car ran into one. Finally, Harry found the solution and touching his wand under his jacket, he muttered the incantation for a mild Cushioning charm under their butts. That did the trick and Fleur flashed him a thankful smile, snuggling into his arm and closing her eyes.

At the junction of the ring road and the E60, the main road leading North, Mihai slowed down the car, coming to a halt shortly afterwards. Fleur's eyes fluttered open and she shifted forward on her seat.

"What happened, Mihai?" she asked, peeking out of the window. Before Mihai could answer, however, two armed police agents came up to them, signalling the driver to let down his window. Wearing the standard, dark blue police uniform, the two young man about their own age didn't at all seem to pose a threat, even with the simple, yet lethal PM-86 rifles striped on their back.

"There's a control post not far from here. Just a routine document check, nothing to worry about. You two are tourists with a valid visa, so you should be just fine," Mihai hurried to calm his passengers, while rummaging in his glove compartment for the car documents and his driver licence. The two youngsters, however, didn't share his optimism and exchanged a worried glance.

The older of the two agents, a sergeant, raised two fingers at his cap and greeted Mihai, peeking his head through the window.

"Good afternoon. Could I see the car papers and your driver licence, please?"

Mihai handed over the documents and exchanged a few friendly words with the cop. The other man, obviously bored and satisfied with the papers, handed them back, casting a friendly smile at the two youngsters.

"These your passengers?"

Fleur arranged her features into a brisk smile. Harry felt the slight breeze that started and saw the policeman's eyes growing huge as he stared at the beautiful young woman.

"I'm Mihai's niece, Maria and this is my boyfriend, Ioan, We are visiting relatives in Ploieşti," broadly smiling, Fleur spoke in perfect Romanian, which earned a barely audible gasp from Mihai. It took the agent quite a bit of an effort to tear his eyes off her and he gulped heavily. "Have a safe trip then. Be careful, there was an accident a few kilometers further and the road is not cleared yet."

Nodding affirmatively, Mihai engaged the first gear and slowly drove off. From the rear mirror Harry saw that he was frowning in concentration, pressing his lips firmly together. After a few minutes awkward silence he pulled over at a Rompetrol station and switched off the engine.

"I have to fill the car up and then we will have to talk," he barked in a rather unfriendly way. Suddenly, he raised his hand and smashed the back of his head with it. "Bloody mosquitos," he mumbled under his nose, shaking his head, and got out of the car.

Fleur saw Harry removing his hand from under his jacket. "You are very careless, Ioan," she half-heartedly reproached him.

"Look who is talking now, _Maria_," the boy retorted, smiling at the young Veela. "Using your Veela charms and a wandless Instant Translation Charm in front of a Muggle,_three_ Muggles, to be more precise?"

"Uh-oh," Fleur battered her eyelashes. "Now I'm in trouble, aren't I? What are you going to do to poor little me?" She poke out her tongue at the boy and Harry's last droplets of resolution - if there were any at all - evaporated the same instant.

"I will have to think about it," he spoke slowly, continuing the game. "Maybe, very maybe, you will have to sleep on the couch tonight, _Maria."_

The girl went pale. Literally. "Oh no, _Ioan_, don't do that to me! Don't take away my comfy pillow! I will behave, I promise!"

"All right, all right," Harry faked resignation with a loud sigh, drawing the girl closer and Fleur snuggled closer into his arm. Then, their eyes met and both burst out in a giggling fit. _Merlin knows we needed a light moment like this after all horror we'd been through, _Fleur thought. Feeling herself pressed gently against Harry, she just realized how close they _really _were, but said nothing. _She felt safe with him; he was her protector, her best – and only – friend, although Harry was never to replace her man in her life._

In the meantime, Mihai returned and engaged into a heated debate with the clerk in rapid Romanian, the latter pointing towards the pump a few times and shaking his head. Mihai said a few more words, slowly and pointedly, and the clerk apologetically shrugged his shoulders and disappeared again, only to return two minutes later with two heavy 5-gallon jerrycans.

Leaning into the window, Mihai smiled at the two youngsters. "They ran out of petrol and they said they didn't expect delivery until some time next week. Quite hard to believe, isn't it, with one of Europe's biggest refineries in Ploieşti, not even 40 kilometers from here?"

"Where is all your oil going then?" Harry inquired in disbelief. "Ceausescu's pocket," Mihai shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "He exports all oil we produce at half of the market price, putting the money on his Swiss bank account, and buys the petrol we need at normal, world prices, from the country's budget." The clerk, hearing the name of the feared dictator, snapped at Mihai, obviously fearing to be overheard, but he just shooed him, emitting a short, bitter laugh.

"Where did your friend get this petrol then?" Harry pointed at the clerk, who in the meantime started pouring the contents of the second jerrycan into the Lada's tank. Mihai furrowed his brows and pointedly said, "I helped him out once." Understanding that he shouldn't know everything, Harry nodded, and produced the 500 lei Mihai asked. Handing over the five banknotes to the clerk, the two men shook hands and Mihai sat back into the car and, crossing himself again and muttering a short prayer, took off Northbound.

** ** **

The car indifferently covered the kilometers in Mihai's expert hands, its engine singing in a steady tone. After a few minutes' search, their driver found a Hungarian station on the radio and satisfiedly nodded his head. The soft music pouring from the speakers, the monotonous rolling sound of the tires and Harry's safe presence slowly calmed Fleur down and it didn't even take ten minutes before her heavy eyelids closed down and she slid into healing sleep, only to be followed by Harry shortly afterwards.

"_Is my boyfriend dreaming about your wife, Bill?" Ginny questioningly furrowed her brows, pressing lips into a thin line. Lovingly brushing her sister's fiery mane, Bill emitted a short laugh, drawing her close._

"_I don't think that's the case, Gin, I'd rather say they both dream of the place they are heading for," he shook his equally red head, not really understanding the reasoning behind her question. "I hope I wasn't hearing a tingle of jealousy in your voice, was I?" Not even giving her a chance to give an answer, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the thick wall of mist that had formed around them after he'd pronounced the incantation._

_The scenery that had opened them shortly afterward was simply breathtaking. Behind them an ancient pine forest – one could hear the sudden breeze of wind whispering its tales about centuries of history this forest had seen, a dozen steps in front of them a moss-covered cliff ending in an abysmal chasm. A wild mountain river gurgled in the canyon a thousand feet beneath them, and mountains, majestic, snow-capped mountains as far as their eyes could see._

"_Let's have a seat, Gin," Bill offered, carefully seating her on a rock, "we need to talk." Nodding silently, the girl cast a frightful glance under her feet and shrugged uncomfortably. "One would think that after six years of flying and playing Quidditch one couldn't have agoraphobia. Well, this sucks."_

_She forcefully grabbed Bill's hand and expectantly looked into his eyes. "Let's talk then."_

_A minute of silence followed while Bill pulled his thoughts together. His normally jovial, cheerful expressions disappeared, replaced by something that could be interpreted as 'painful realization'._

"_Ginny," he started softly, "we are dead to them. Even if we can visit them in their dreams, it's merely an illusion for all of us, but it's not the reality. The reality is that they have their own lives now and we have our existence here. We will have to let them go, eventually." He pronounced the last sentence with enormous pain in his voice and his eyes slowly started to fill with huge tears._

_Ginny, to whom Bill was not only a brother, but her Big Brother, her protector and her rock, now was officially puzzled with the sudden change in his demeanor. Nevertheless, she instinctively felt he was right, he must have been right, but she couldn't utter anything comprehensive, only silently nodded, squeezing his hand painfully._

_A minute of pregnant silence followed until she found her voice. "I know that, Bill. It's just... I loved Harry, and I still love him and I know he still does. We had so many plans together... I wanted to marry him, carry his child... and now it's all gone. It hurts me so much that I can't even cry about it any more."_

"_Believe me, I know all about it," Bill profusely nodded, drawing her on his lap and hugging her protectively to himself as he always did, while she buried her head in his shoulder. "Until a few days ago, I had a life, a beautiful wife, and even if I didn't know about her, a daughter. It's all over now, but to me the most important thing is that they live and have a pretty good chance to survive."_

_A hawk landed on a cliff, maybe twenty yards from the two, and not paying the slightest attention to them started chewing on his prey, a furry squirrel, whose carelessness cost him his live a few seconds ago. Absentmindedly watching the predator beguiling his first hunger, the young wizard immersed into silence for a few moments. When he spoke again, the tears from his eyes were gone and the trace of a faint smile was visible on his badly scarred face._

"_There is one more thing that you should be aware of and prepared for, Gin."_

"_Any more surprises, big bro?" Ginny grinned at him._

"_Well," Bill slowly filtered the words, "I guess it depends on the point of view you are watching it from. What I'm trying to say, sis, is that there's a slight, but real chance for those two to fall in love as time passes by."_

"_Ohhh!" The dumbfounded expression on Ginny's face spoke for itself as she exhaled sharply, totally not expecting to hear these words from Bill's mouth. It felt, however, as if he were expecting such a reaction from her, as he, seemingly, was ready with the answer._

"_In times like this, having survived cataclismic events as this war, for example," Bill started cautiously, "people cling on to each other, stick together in order to survive further. Sometimes, these forced companionships can grow into something deep, something beautiful. Should this happen to our two fugitives here, I will be the very first person to be happy for them."_

"_Just like that?" Ginny couldn't believe her ears._

"_Just like that," Bill nodded curtly. "Believe me, it took me a sleepless night of thinking and contemplating before coming to this conclusion, but let me tell you one thing. They will mourn us for a long time and drown themselves in survivor's guilt, but ultimately, they will have to move on. If that happens, if Fleur chooses Harry, I don't think I could trust her and our daughter's fate to better hands than his. And, if I'm not mistaken about your boyfriend, he will still consider his sacred duty to protect her even if she falls in love with someone else."_

"_Speaking of the devil..." muttered Ginny under her nose, her eyes growing to the size of a saucer as she - from behind Bill's shoulder - caught sight of the two coming out of the forest, each carrying a basket full of mushrooms. Jumping up from Bill's lap as if bitten by a venomous snake, she emitted a happy, surprised yell and ran towards them, spreading her arms. The last few steps she covered with giant leaps, flinging herself into her surprised boyfriend's arms and crushing her lips on his._

_Bill followed her a few steps behind, only to stop in front of Fleur a moment later. His eyes drank in the ethereal beauty of the young woman, but he said nothing. Then, he enclosed her in his arms, effortlessly lifting her off the ground, and happily spun her around while gently, very gently, savouring every moment kissed her full on her lips. In the very next second, they were gone._

"_It seems we are alone," whispered Ginny in Harry's ears when she finally managed to wrench her mouth away from his, causing both to moan at the loss of touch. Nervously fiddling with the buttons of her blouse, Harry could only silently nod his agreement while he began to kiss his way down her body, putting her on fire with his touches and caresses._

_Having finally relieved themselves from the last pieces of garment, he gently lowered her onto a conjured blanket and carefully positioned himself above her, both heavily panting in atavistic desire._

"_Actually no, Ginny. We are together," he breathed into her mouth_ _as their bodies finally united._


	16. Chapter 16

An hour may have passed already when the Lada left the ring road around Ploieşti and turned Northwest on the I-1, towards Braşov. Suddenly, the car yanked to the left as Mihai's expert hand performed a last-minute maneuver to avoid the collision with a car that abruptly braked in front of them with no apparent reason.

Opening his eyes, Harry, for a minute, couldn't understand where he was and what he was doing there. Just what seemed a moment ago, he could still feel Ginny's goodbye kiss on his lips as she waved him goodbye, returning to the Shadowlands from the realm of his dreams. Then he realized he was sitting in the car with Fleur, on their way to the Veela colony in Bistriţa.

Apologetically smiling into the rear-view mirror, Mihai drew up his shoulders as if he were trying to say, "Sorry 'bout that, I couldn't do anything else." Harry returned the smile, nodding curtly, then his attention turned towards the young witch curled up in his arms. She wore an ethereal smile on her beautiful face as she slept, but suddenly she emitted a loud, guttural moan and her body arched off the seat, only to relax back into his arms shortly afterwards.

"Bill!" The girl's eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times, just to let them adjust to the light.

Did you sleep well, Fleur?" Harry asked innocently, carefully wiping a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "Oh yes, I did," she purred, sitting up on the seat and stretching her legs, while casting a quick glance out of the car window at their surroundings. In the distance, the flat horizon of the lowlands slowly surrendered to the nearing massive of the Carpathian Mountains. "Soon, sweetheart..." she whispered to herself, laying her hand on her abdomen, "Soon we will be at home..."

Turning to the boy, she couldn't miss the playful spark in his eyes and the huge grin on his face. "I think we both did, Harry," she corrected herself, just to mask her slight embarrassment and return the ball to him. The grin, however, didn't disappear from his face, on the contrary, it became wider, until it was threatening to tear up his mouth. Their eyes met and both burst out in howling laughter.

"Where are we, Mihai?" Fleur asked the driver, when she finally managed to collect herself.

"We just left Ploieşti," he answered, not taking his glance off the road. "I was just about to suggest a stopover to stretch our legs and grab a bite."

"That's a good idea," Fleur nodded approvingly. "I could do with a sandwich; apart from the breakfast in the hotel I haven't eaten anything today."

They pulled over a few minutes later at a parking lot for trucks. Feeling the familiar, slight tingling in her forehead, Fleur guessed at once Harry was casting more than a few privacy and protection charms around themselves, just in case. While Mihai went to the small lavatory to relieve himself, Harry and Fleur discussed their options.

"Can we tweak the car so that it won't run out of fuel?"

"I can try," Harry nodded. "A refilling charm would do the trick; I'll just have to figure out how to make it permanent. Now, for the food, I do not know how to explain to him why our sandwiches are still hot. We already raised his suspicion once and we can't afford it again."

Fleur arranged her features into a grimace. "I had hoped we wouldn't have to hex him, but we have no other choice. Only not the Memory charm again; using it on someone too often can lead to residual effects."

"Do you happen to know the Notice-me-not Charm?" Harry asked, mentally going through other suitable charms. "I don't think I should Imperius him for this."

"That one, you leave to me, Monsieur," Fleur smiled at the boy. Indicating him to get out of the car, she did the same and they sat down on a bench a few steps further. Quickly, before the driver could return, Harry performed the charm he had in mind, hoping that he hadn't just syphoned out all fuel from the car's tank instead of refilling it.

Mihai returned from the loo and caught up with the teens. "Eat up, Mihai, there's enough for all of us," Fleur offered him a sandwich, letting her powers just the slightest bit loose on the man. He silently nodded and accepted the food, taking a few absent-minded bites. Sharing a quick look, the two relaxed and followed his example.

A quarter hour later, well fed and refreshed, the three sat back into the car and Mihai revved up the engine once again. They drove off in the direction of Braşov, the main gateway to the Carpathian Mountains.

A few hours passed again. The closer they came to Braşov, the higher the mountains became and the sky was already darkening, signalling the arrival of the evening. Mihai mentioned a few facts from Transylvania's rich history, properly disgusting them with Countess Elizabeth Bathory and Count Vlas Tepes' bloody deeds, even if "student"-Fleur tried to show vivid interest in his tale.

The road took a sharp left and from behind the bend two giant mountains rose as if at a swish of a wand. "Those are the Moldoveanu and the Negoiu, the two biggest mountains in Romania," Mihai pointed out of the window, not without a certain feeling of pride in his voice. "Two brothers, eight thousand feet, both of them, guarding the entrance to the Carpathian basin." And indeed, the mountains were majestic. Appearing seemingly out of nowhere, they rose high above the place, threateningly, as if willing to warn the unwanted passer-by: "Till here and no further!".

Passing Braşov without stopping, the car took towards the west. The highway ended shortly afterwards, turning into a narrow, non-lit, dangerous road climbing upwards to the Bistriţa passage. Mihai had to drive slower, leaning out of the window every now and then. Suddenly, the road ahead of them lit up in the magically enhanced beams of the car reflectors and Harry leaned back satisfiedly on his seat. "I guess that will do," he muttered under his nose.

"Bloody lamps!" Mihai cursed out as the suddenly enhance light, reflected back by the wet tarmac, temporarily blinded him. The short feeling of discomfort passed as fast as it had appeared, however, and he drove on, holding the steering wheel steadily in his hands.

Already high in the mountains, they passed a few sleeping villages before they saw the traffic sign "Bistriţa 12 km". The very first time ever since they fled England, the two started to have a feeling that their road might soon end, so close they had already come to their final destination, and in their hearts they thanked whatever god or goddess wizards had for having brought them safely this far.

"Where shall I stop, Maria?" Mihai inquired, casting a quick glance at his passengers in the rear mirror.

"In front of the municipality building will be just fine," she smiled back at him. "I guess we will find our way from there. I have been here once and I have a very good visual memory, so we will be okay."

Their driver scratched his ear. "Are you quite sure? It's not quite safe out here, at night, for two foreigners who don't speak the language and have no place to go."

"I can assure you, Mihai, that we will be fine, but thanks for the warning anyway."

"As you wish," Mihai indifferently drew up his shoulders and spoke no more until the car came to a complete halt in front of the city hall. Then he switched off the engine and emitted a relieved sigh. "This is the end of the road, then," he pointed out of the window.

Counting down twenty-five 100-lei banknotes, Harry handed them over to the driver. He meticulously counted them over and raised his brows questioningly. "It's too much."

"You've helped us enormously," Fleur smiled briskly. "I don't know what we would have done without you. Moreover, you will have to find a place to sleep over the night, buy petrol for the way back, buy some food, so..."

"Thank you, Miss, for the worries, but I will be fine. I know some people here who could put me up for the night and where there is food for one, there will always be food for two, but... thanks. I will pray to St. Gheorghiu so that he may wake over you and guide you safely wherever you're going."

Getting out of the car, Mihai opened the passenger door to help Fleur get out as well. "Good luck, Maria," he offered his hand, but Fleur enclosed him in a hug instead, kissing both his cheeks, leaving him completely speechless. From the corner of her eyes, the girl saw Harry pocketing his wand.

"On second thought," Mihai yawned, threatening to dislocate his jaws, "I'm quite tired, actually, so I think I'll just sleep here in the car, Good luck, Ian, and take good care of her girlfriend." He exchanged a firm handshake with Harry, then sat back into the car, reclined the driver's seat as far as he could and locked the doors from inside. A few minutes later, he was already firm asleep.

"We shouldn't leave him here like this," Fleur whispered to Harry, who already had his wand in his hand, whispering '_Alohomora_'. Adding more than a few wards around the car, he keyed them to the driver so that his charms would dissolve when Mihai wakes up the next morning. Frowned his eyebrows in concentration, Harry reached for his wallet and pulled out the Romanian banknotes he still had left. Combining it with the money he had given to Mihai and now, temporarily, claimed back from him, he comically scratched his left ear. "Where is Hermione when would I need her?" he muttered absentmindedly, trying to recall the Protean charm she had used when duplicating the DA coins, back in their fifth year, what seemed an eternity ago.

"Fuck!" he smashed his fist at the bonnet at the car when he realized what he'd just said, caring neither about waking up Mihai, nor about the burning pain the fine bones snapping in his hand had caused. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Every cussword was followed with another hit at the bonnet, until the metal gave way, forming a huge dent in the process.

Fleur saw that his eyes were filled with genuine tears and realized that these tears were caused rather by the pain of losing a friend, one's best friend, rather than his physical pain. She saw, however, how badly bruised his hand really was. Gently taking it into her hand, she pulled her wand, her eyes meeting his halfway.

"I know, my dear Harry, I know..." she whispered, resting her forehead against his, "I'm missing her too, just like all the others..." Swallowing heavily, she wiped away her abundantly flowing tears and Harry's as well, gently brushing his face with her thumbs, then saw to the healing of his right hand. Harry hissed a few times, swallowing a few uncensored phrases, as the broken bones snapped back to their place. A vial of Skele-gro appeared from Fleur's bag and Harry forced the vile-tasting fluid down his throat.

Getting back to the banknotes, he closed his eyes and concentrated, swishing his wand in a complex pattern above the small pile, then repeated the incantation. Two identical piles appeared besides the original one, and Fleur randomly picked one up, rolling the banknotes among her fingers, even sniffed at them. Pocketing the money, she returned the original pile to Harry, putting the last heap into Mihai's pocket.

Leaving a few sandwiches - still warm - and a bottle of water - still cold - on the by-driver seat, they locked the car door and set the wards sharp. Now the car was invisible and anybody nearing it closer than ten feet would feel burning headache and the sudden urge to go home and lay down and rest.

"Decent guy, this Mihai. I think everybody made a good deal, after all the money he got from us IS not fake and it's way more than we had agreed before. Garp's law doesn't mention paper money, only gold and silver that can't be reproduced," Harry mused, putting one bag on his back as if it were a backpack. Grabbing the second one, he offered his empty hand to Fleur. "We just have to make sure to change the serial numbers on one heap. Which way?"

Looking into his eyes, the girl pushed a few mental images to him. Harry's sudden headache passed as quick as it had appeared, but this new method of communication caught his interest.

"I always thought Legilimency was one-sided, that you could only read someone's mind. Next time, please warn me or something. For a split second, I thought I was going ga-ga," he lovingly chided his companion.

Fleur rolled her eyes, firmly grabbing the offered hand and pulled at it, indicating the way to follow. "_There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_," she cited the famous lines into the chilly night. Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "You are slightly impossible, you know," his eyes lit up in the almost complete darkness. "Out here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, running for our lives and you are citing Shakespeare."

Fleur's ringing laughter echoed far in the silence, waking a few birds. "Yay, guilty me! Never liked Shakespeare, by the way, but this quote was just fitting. Muggles call this part of Legilimency 'telepathy', if I'm not mistaken. Something like how Voldemort was sending you those visions."

"Many thanks for the history lesson, gracias, merci boku," muttered Harry in a somewhat acid voice.

Fleur shook her head in faux disbelief. "_Beaucoup_, Monsieur Potter. C'est toi qu'est impossible," she switched over to Parisienne and there was nothing left for Harry but to laugh together with her.

After a quarter hour of comfortable stroll - the small town left far behind them - the two reached a small wooden bridge over a fast mountain creek. Harry's '_Lumos Minima_' gave just enough light so that the two could see a few steps ahead and they stopped for a moment to take a better look at the shabby construction. Stepping carefully onto the old wood at first with one foot, then the other one, Harry took a few cautious steps. Only when he deemed the construction reliable enough did he return to help Fleur over the bridge as well.

A narrow path opened up to the left between a few bushes and Fleur stopped as if in trance, comparing the location with her memories. Nodding satisfiedly, she turned to Harry. "Now, we will climb."

"Are you _completely_sure about that?" Harry worriedly furrowed his brows. "In your... situation, being pregnant and tired and all, is that well the safest thing to do? Can't you just Apparate us there and get over with it?" The girl disapprovingly shook her gorgeous head. "Believe me, my dear Harry, that I would have done it hours ago, rather than have ourselves shaken, mixed and stirred on these horrible roads in that stinking can on wheels of Mihai's. What did you learn about unplottable objects?"

"That one can't see, map them or make a drawing or picture them otherwise, can't Apparate to them unless one had been shared the secret of the Fidelius charm that's usually performed at the same time an object is made Unplottable. All right, Professor Delacour, I get the picture, but... are you _completely_sure there's no other way up there? Can't I just try to Levitate us there?"

"In a place as obstructed as this and in complete darkness, I would say it's just too risky. Let's go, I will be fine, I promise."

Contemplating for a few moments, Harry threw the bags from his shoulder. "Should have done it ages ago" he muttered, drawing his wand and shrinking the bags to pocketable sizes. Then, he turned back to Fleur. "Raise your foot, please." Tapping the sole of her boot, he performed the Featherlight Charm, which he repeated on her other foot, then on his own feet as well. Nodding silently, he turned towards the path, trying to figure out their way up at the faint light of Fleur's wand. Suddenly, he felt her moist lips brush his cheek and heard her soft voice whisper into his ear. "For luck."

"Me first," she continued in a normal voice, stepping ahead. And off she went, treading confidently, dictating a murderous pace and Harry had to do his best to keep up with her. He saw she wasn't holding her wand; he understood at once she had must have cast a Supersensory Charm on herself to enhance her eyesight. Cursing himself again for not having thought about this simple solution, he performed the same charm on himself but, unlike her, didn't pocket his wand, just in case.

The path was steep and wet from last night's rainfall, but Fleur walked on with a steady tempo and the graceful movements of a feline, driven ahead by a relentless, invisible force. A good five minutes later, she stopped at a small clearing, took a few deep breaths, and expectantly turned towards Harry. "A few more minutes and we are there."

"If we don't spit out our lungs in the process, that is," Harry exhaled sharply, trying to steady his breathing. "I'm not worrying about myself, but are you sure our little night stroll won't hurt you or your daughter?"

"Gabrielle," Fleur smiled into the darkness, "Gabrielle Weasley-Delacour is her name."

An old memory immersed from behind the shadow of the years in Harry's mind. _Fleur and Gabrielle, holding hands, lead the procession of the Beauxbatons students across the Great Hall. As they reach the Professors' table, they bow in a deep reverence with a beautiful smile on their faces that causes all male hearts except maybe Filch and Snape's skip a beat or two._This is how he wanted to remember the little girl. And now, her name, and maybe a little piece of her as well will live on in Bill and Fleur's daughter.

"I couldn't have thought of a better name," he answered softly, swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Like I said, my dear," Fleur plopped down on the remnants of a giant tree and indicated Harry to sit by her, "my sister loved you with the kind of innocent love only a child is capable of. If you continue like this, my daughter will love you just the same. You are made of strange wood, Harry. It's not the Veela that enchant you; it's you who managed to enchant any Veela lucky enough to cross your path so far."

They shared a chocolate bar that gave them some extra energy, then Fleur playfully slapped Harry's knee. "Time to go, otherwise we'll never get there."

The path turned less steep and the trees became higher. Having reached a strange, mushroom-shaped stone, Fleur abruptly stopped. "Give me your hand, Harry." Stepping carefully past the piece of rock, Harry was overwhelmed by a strange, burning feeling that passed as suddenly as it had appeared.

"The wards have let us through," Fleur smiled, squeezing his hand. "Not it's only a question of minutes, really, and we are there."

"What would have happened if they hadn't?"

The girl only shrugged, remembering her almost-encounter with the wards the Founders had erected around Hogwarts a few days ago. "Don't even ask. I don't think either of us will really want to know."

"You're probably right," Harry barked a short laugh. He did witness more than one Death Eather being reduced to nothing more than fine ash during the siege of Hogwarts by those wards.

"Let's go," Fleur stood. "A few hundred paces and we'll reach the colony, then I suggest we find either one of the Elders or the Queen."

"Queen?" Harry drew his brows.

"The Veela nation is a monarchy," Fleur explained patiently, pulling Harry with her. "It's also one of the_ very few_female-centric societies," she added bitterly, "ruled by a female."

The wind turned slightly, bringing along the bitter smell of fire into their nostrils. Fire meant people; the colony must have been really close by. The serenity of the night was suddenly broken by an unexpected, female voice.

"_Te-am avertizat sa nu te intorci, Contesa Delacour. Nu suntem interesati de acest razboi_."

* * *

A/N. "I've warned you not to return, Countess Delacour. We are not interested in your war."


	17. Chapter 17

The voice caught them completely by surprise and the two turned around in a whirlwind, producing their wands on the move and pointing them at the newcomer. The speaker turned out to be an elderly woman, her platinum blond hair, unlike the gray colour one would expect from someone of her age, framed her still beautiful, aristocratic face with soft waves. Standing calmly with two wands pointed at her, the matron repeated her words, this time in impeccable French, speaking directly to Fleur as if her companion hadn't even existed.

_"J'ai vous conseillé de ne pas revenir, Comtesse Delacour. Nous ne nous intéressons pas à votre guerre." (1)_

Her voice was soft, yet powerful, and Harry could have sworn he felt a slight breeze fluttering in the air while she spoke. He saw that the concentrated expression on Fleur's face changed into determination, then sadness, then the girl pocketed her wand and slowly sank on one knee in front of the matron, admissively bowing her head.

_"Prin dreptul dobandit la nastere, cer refugiu, mea regina." (2)  
_  
Not really knowing what to do, Harry slowly followed her example, understanding that the woman must have been much higher in the Veela hierarchy than Fleur; for a Veela she must have been, he sensed that. The Queen measured the two youngsters with a quick glance, then indicated them to rise with a gracious movement of her right hand. Suddenly a cackling laughter rang in the air and a young woman came forth from the spot she had been standing, a respectful two steps behind her Queen. Even in the chill of the May evening, she was wearing a light, silken summer dress that hugged her body and the moonlight bathed her in a silver glow. The dress clung to her form, following her curves, flowing with them and enhancing them to the point of perfection. This woman was even more beautiful than Fleur, although until now Harry was sure this wasn't possible at all, and he gulped involuntarily, reaching for the hand of her companion.

"Birthright, say you?" The Veela laughed again, but there was no happiness in her laughter. It was an ironic, bullying one instead and Fleur's hand squeezed Harry's painfully as if she were trying to hold herself back not to pick up the glove thrown at her.

"Ileana," she regarded her opponent coolly from behind her perfectly maintained façade of politeness, slightly inclining her head.

"Fleur," the other woman returned the gesture of politeness, although Harry had the slightest feeling that she could but barely restrain herself from scratching out Fleur's eyes. And indeed, he was right. "You have no right here to speak about 'birthright'," Ileana suddenly spat. "You have water in your veins, not Veela blood. You belong neither here, nor there, you miserable Half-blood. Go back to where you've came from and forget that you'd ever been here!"

Fleur didn't even flinch upon the grave insult, but Harry's blood boiled up in an instant. Drawing his wand again, he quickly stepped in between the two girls, shielding Fleur with his body, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Is it common courtesy among your people to insult those in need instead of helping them, Miss Ileana?" he hissed in a venomous voice. Without a word of warning, the Veela all of a sudden let her powers loose on him and thrust out her right hand with her palm pointing towards the boy, Harry's powerful shield deflecting her fireball in the last fracture of a second before it could smash into his chest. Another barely visible wand movement, and Ileana's wrists were neatly tied together and Harry had to admit that her vain attempts to free her hands from her invisible magical bonds was a rather comic sight.

It was the first time that the matron regarded him with badly disguised interest, casting an approving glance at the boy before she spoke. "Is this common courtesy among your people to raise your wands upon those you expect help from, young man? Back off, you two. You behave like children in the kindergarten."

Muttering something incomprehensible, Harry cancelled the charm and pocketed his wand. "I have lost too many friends these past few days and I truly intend to protect the only one that I have left, Your Majesty."

"Any time, little boy," laughed Iliana, letting all her powers lose on him again. Harry calmly stood her glance as if he hadn't noticed that her simple white dress had slid off her shoulders with a perfect timing, almost completely baring her perfect, round breasts in the process.

"Ileana!" the matron snapped, this time with a magical edge in her voice, and the young Veela backed off immediately. "Why can't I even play with him, Grandmother?" she pouted her lips in a mock hurt grimace, her eyes watching the boy with a predatory glance.

Fleur annoyedly huffed and was just about to interject, but the Queen's response was even faster than hers. "Because he's not yours, that's why. What did I tell you about hunting on forbidden ground?"

_"Curios acest tanar. Incerc sa-l vrajesc cu farmecele mele si nici macar nu clinteste," (3) _Ileana whispered into her grandmother's ears, then continued in English as if nothing had happened. "Have I already told you that I love challenges?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Veela," Harry preferred not to address the girl by her name this time, "but as you just said, your charms won't work on me, not now, not later. And, as you may have understood, I'm faster with my wand than you are with your fireballs, so I suggest we sign a cease-fire."

For a moment, Ileana's face turned into a mask or resignation. When she looked up again, however, she wore the same brisk, seductive smile as in the beginning. "You mated with him yet?" she addressed Fleur with a hint of hope in her voice. The other girl just shook her head, slightly flushed, and Harry, suddenly understanding the essence of Ileana's question, flushed red together with her.

"Curious indeed. I have never seen a grown-up male who could resist Veela charms, especially not mine. He didn't even flinch when I hit him full frontal." mused Ileana, giving the boy an appreciating glance. "Those who could were either mates of other Veela, or were no males at all," she laughed at her own joke, her cold voice cutting through the air of the forest as a knife cutting through freshly baked bread. "I would simply love to see whether you're a real male or not. Can I mate with your companion?" she addressed Fleur, while stepping up real close to Harry as if inadvertently brushing herself against him.

Reaching out with his hand, Harry gently arranged the strap of her dress on her shoulder, then stepped away from the girl. "Stop making a fool of yourself, Ileana, and save your face. I'm not going to 'mate' with you, not now, not ever."

"That still doesn't explain why you can resist my charms, unless..." Suddenly putting two and two together, she respectfully bowed to Fleur. "My apologies, Comtesse. It seems that your companion's heart is engaged, even if he doesn't realise it, as of yet, and as such, it would be unforgivable from my side to pursue him any longer."

Harry feverishly tried to understand the unspoken and sought Fleur's support, gently taking her hand again. Suddenly, he felt as if he were hit by a strong surge of electricity on the spot where their skin touched, leaving a tingling sensation behind. Before he could even move, however, Fleur spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Apology accepted, Princess Ileana." Gently squeezing Harry's hand again, she continued in a sad voice, tears filling her beautiful eyes. "Queen Viorica, Princess Ileana, this is my friend, my only friend alive, Harry Potter."

The bomb - two bombs - had been dropped and for a moment there was complete silence in the forest, only to be broken, yet again, by Ileana's ironic cackle.

"Is this the Boy-who-lived? The one supposed to rid you all of that maniac? How pathetic of you to put your fates into the hands of someone barely of age!"

"Merlin knows how I hate that name," Harry spat on the ground, "especially now when it suddenly became literal. We are the only two survivors of the Battle for Hogwarts. Everyone else is dead. My fiancee, my friends, everybody I had ever known, ever loved."

Queen Viorica's face turned suddenly ashen. Gently placing her hands on Fleur's shoulders, she asked the question she feared to hear the answer for.

"Your husband as well, my child?"

Unable to speak and extremely tired, Fleur managed only a small nod, her eyes flooded with tears. The Queen drew her closer, closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer, while holding the girl in her comfort. Even Ileana snapped shut, finally understanding the horrors of the said, and only nervously bit her lower lip.

Letting go of Fleur, the Queen stepped one step backwards and intently looked into the girl's eyes. "I sense you are pregnant, Comtesse. His child?" Earning a curt, approving nod, she cursed out loud in Romanian, then her features softened and, bearing immense pain in her glance, drew a sharp breath.

"Very well, Comtesse, Mr. Potter, you may stay here. From this moment on you are under our protection. However," she continued, "since you two aren't mated, you can't stay in the village itself. We have a few guest houses just a short walk, maybe two hundred paces outside the village, you will have one at your disposal. Please follow me."

With these words, the powerful witch set off in a brisk tempo, her legs barely touching ground, and the three youngsters had to do their best to keep up with her.  
"You have to forgive my granddaughter," she apologetically started, turning to the guests. "She's always in a bad mood when she has her days and quite... protective about her domains."

"That's still no excuse to behave like a sneaky Slytherin with their Pureblood mania and insult my friend," retorted Harry. He still hadn't forgiven Ileana for those words, although Fleur seemingly didn't care. She was too tired to care about anything, driven only by the perspective of getting closer to a bed and get some sleep with every step taken. Seeing her struggle, Harry gently put his hand around her waist to support her just in case she might stumble on the uneven ground of the centuries-old forest.

Shortly, the woods cleared and the four found themselves on the outskirts of the Veela colony. The village itself contained maybe a hundred almost identical, neat, one-storey wooden houses, each surrounded with a small garden. |Even at the late hour, the small procession was met by the candid eyes of happily chattering, playing children, all platinum blond, and a few adults, who, recognizing their Queen, all respectfully knelt down or bowed their heads.

Finally, the four stopped in front of a cabin, standing together with a handful others, slightly aside. The door opened by itself and Ileana gestured the three to enter, following them on their way.

The house inside seemed much bigger that one would have thought. Divided into three rooms of acceptable formats - one kitchen, one small bathroom and one bedroom with two beds - it provided every possible comfort one could have expected in this place, seemingly far from every civilization. Harry immediately led Fleur to one of the beds and seated her, pulling off her jacket and removing her shoes, then, as she lay down, gently arranged the cover around her.

"It's over now, Fleur. You may rest now. I will be here waking over you."

Planting a chaste kiss on her forehead, he was rewarded with the even breathing of the girl. She was already firmly asleep.

Silently closing the bedroom door behind himself, he rejoined the two Veela, patiently waiting in the kitchen. Assuming the role of the host, he pulled the two chairs from the table and indicated the two to sit down, but the Queen only shook her head.

"I'm really thankful for having put us up, Your Majesties. I was worried about Fleur, you know. She is extremely exhausted and I wouldn't want anything to happen her or to her baby."

"You are a fine man, Mr. Potter," nodded the Queen, rewarding him with a smile. "However, if I'm not mistaken, you are no less tired than Ms. Delacour. I suggest you get some sleep yourself, and tomorrow we will talk. Good night." She suddenly tensed up seeing Ileana moving closer to the boy, but her granddaughter seemed to have reconsidered her behaviour.

"It seems to be a day of apologies, Mr. Potter," Ileana started, somewhat ashamed, "and I seem to have misbehaved. Please forgive me for my attitude. Comtesse Delacour is extremely lucky to have such a wonderful friend in your person."

"It's 'Harry' for friends. Sand over it," Harry reached out with his right hand and the young Veela gladly accepted the peace offer. Giving a quick peck on the boy's cheek, she flushed red from embarrassment and fled the cabin. Her grandmother, inwardly smirking at the girl's clear defeat, followed her, acknowledging Harry's respectful bow with an identical one.

Closing the door behind them, Harry dimmed the magical torches and silently opened the bedroom door. Quickly undressing, leaving on only his T-shirt and boxer shorts, he was just about to slide into his own bed, when Fleur's sleepy voice startled her.

"Harry, sit with me, please, until I fall asleep again."

Kneeling besides her bed, he took her left hand into his and felt her fingers intertwine with his. Placing his head on her pillow, they were so close that he could feel her hot breath on his face.

"Sleep tight, Fleur," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Sleep tight, Bill. I love you," she muttered, slowly drifting off into deep, healing sleep, the startled boy following her shortly afterwards.

The next morning, the first rays of the morning sun found him still kneeling at her bed, with his head on her pillow, his hand protectively draped over the girl.

A/N.

(1) "I told you not to return, Comtesse Delacour. We are not interested in your war."

(2) "Per birthright, I apply for refuge, my Queen."

(3) "Curious, this boy. I hit him full frontal with my charms and he didn't even flinch." 


	18. Chapter 18

The sun peeked through the gaps of the primitive shutter, a few playful rays finding their way straight into the young wizard's eyes. For a long moment not recognizing his surroundings, Harry slowly raised his head from the pillow, mere inches from the silvery mane of his peacefully sleeping female companion. Then all suddenly clicked in place; he remembered last night's arrival at their safe refuge in the Veela colony, up high in the Bistriţa hills.

Afraid to move, afraid to wake Fleur, Harry lovingly watched the girl for a few moments, until his abused legs woke, painfully protesting for having been mistreated for so long. Hissing from pain, he slowly stretched them, and made a few circular movements with his toes in order to restore blood circulation. Thankfully, his injury worried him no more - Fleur's Skele-Gro worked its magic - and after five excruciating minutes he deemed his legs usable again.

Gently closing the bedroom door behind himself, the young man found himself in the kitchen, whose simple, but clean, neat furniture consisted of a table, four chairs, two identical cupboards, the bluish gloom on one of them the telltale sign of the presence of a Stasis charm, which meant food in the eyes of the hungry wizard. A stove burning with magical, never-ending fire, quite similar to Molly Weasley's one and, to his surprise, a rather modern, magically tweaked Muggle tap enhanced the picture.

Feeling the immediate urge to relieve himself, Harry dove behind the door he supposed to lead to any similarity of a bathroom. A few minutes later, already somewhat refreshed and fully awake, he emerged from the door, combing his hair on the go with his fingers. Opening the door, he let himself be overwhelmed by the crisp, cool air of yet another beautiful spring morning, his nostrils hungrily drawing in the numerous unknown smells, the spicy scent of the nearby pine forest, the bitter odour of smoke rising from a few nearby fireplaces.

"Peaceful, isn't it?"

The soft, painful, somewhat distant voice startled Harry and he slowly turned around, only to see Fleur, her eyes puffy and red, standing a few yards behind him. Her sad glance was transfixed at the young wizard's face and Harry felt a discomforting feeling growing inside him.

The young Veela slowly walked up to him and softly laid her hand on his shoulder.

"A beautiful day. A perfect one for a funeral," she repeated, a huge teardrop making its way down her cheek. Her lips trembled as if she was about to burst into crying, but, with an incredible display of self-control, she managed to keep collected. "I can't do this alone, Harry," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. "I can't bury him alone. I need, yet again, to ask for your help."

"Anything, Fleur, just tell me what I need to do," Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. Instinctively, he understood the girl would need hem today more than ever, feeling the pain inside her slowly eating her away. Gently putting his hands on her side, he drew her closer until their bodies touched and she laid her head in the crook of his neck. Even through the fabric of their clothes he could feel the girl was burning up, at the same time she was unstoppably shivering; he couldn't understand whether she had a fever or was simply exhausted.

Feeling his comforting closeness, the girl's shivers gradually subsided and she thankfully raised her huge doe eyes, facing the boy's soft, painful glance.

"Please don't make any promises you might not be able to keep. Just help me through this day, Harry, that's all I ask."

The young wizard had no ready answers for this. He only nodded, but this simple gesture spoke more than a hundred words, at least it did for the young Veela. Emitting a somewhat relieved sigh, she nuzzled closer to Harry, until she suddenly realized by his reaction how close they really were. Then, she broke away, apologetically smiling at the blushing boy.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't want to compromise you, it's just... it might feel somewhat inappropriate, but I feel safe with you. I don't know what I would be doing without you."

Fighting his blush, Harry seriously but warmly looked into her face. "We have been through this, Fleur. Together, we have a chance, no matter how slight that might be. We have no longer to run for our lives; we are safe here and you will have soon a beautiful daughter we can spoil rotten." He paused for a moment, seemingly fighting an internal fight, but braced himself and went on. "It might feel too inappropriate, but I'm glad I'm still capable of feeling anything even if I should be cursing myself for it."

Understanding the turmoil inside his head, Fleur abruptly changed the theme of the conversation. "I think we should start the day and get ourselves cleaned up, then eat something, even if I detest the sound of it. You don't mind if I use the bathroom first?"

Not even waiting for the boy's answer – not that he would have objected, anyway - she slowly turned around and with uneven, tired steps made her way towards the small bathroom. Harry suddenly felt very sorry for her and for a brief moment considered running after her, discarding this horrible idea only a fracture of a second earlier before his feet managed to make the first step towards her. He sadly watched her disappear behind the door, now resembling an old, broken woman instead of the astonishingly beautiful young witch he used to know once in a better life that seemed now light-years away and – he questioned that - might have never existed at all.

While she was occupying the bathroom, Harry decided to look after their breakfast, only to engage his thoughts with something else that wasn't involving deaths and tragedies around them. Randomly opening the cupboards, after a brief search he produced two plates, two cups from one cupboard, a half loaf of bread, some cheese and sausages from the other one, all under the Stasis charm. In a jug he even found some milk that seemed to be fresh. Laying the table, he made some tea and then just sat there, waiting for his companion to return.

"I'm sorry, Fleur, it's nothing fancy..." he started to apologize when the girl, already in a fresh set of clothes, finally occupied her spot, and pointed at the simple food on the table.

"Honestly, Harry, I couldn't care less. Not today." She cut a slice of bread and a few slices of cheese and started chewing at them, machinally, without appetite. Her thoughts were seemingly somewhere else, somewhere far away, and her beautiful blue eyes were overshadowed with the immense pain she was bearing on her soul.

"I will formally have to ask the Queen's permission to bury Bill," Fleur looked out of the window, staring into nothingness. "You can stay here, if you want to, I won't take long."

Annoyed, Harry cast a glare full disbelief at the young witch and scoffed. "Not bloody likely I'm letting you to go anywhere alone in your current state.

Fleur let a trace of a smile form on her worn face. "I suspected as much, Harry, just for the record, but I didn't want to force any obligations on you. You've been carrying too much on your shoulders."

"For the second smartest witch of your age, you are daft as hell," Harry stood irritatedly, collecting the used tableware with slightly more noise than necessary. "I've already told you that the only place I wouldn't be following you would be the girls' loo, so, unless you explicitly forbid me to be at your side, you will have to accept that from today on you would be having two appendixes."

"How about being with me while I'll be delivering Gabrielle?" The look in Fleur's eyes was undecipherable.

"I will close my eyes and hold your hands," Harry answered simply, secretly hoping he hadn't just given a too light-hearted promise. He was again rewarded with a faint smile, and Fleur stood up from the table, banishing the rest of the food back to the cupboard with a flick of her wand.

"I guess we're good to go," she said simply, calling in a slight breeze and arranging her hair in impeccable waves on her shoulders using her powers. Although Harry had already seen the small spectacle numerous times, there was always something capturing in this tiny transformation and it never failed to impress him.

Exiting the small house, Harry cast a locking charm at the door. Not because he was afraid of anything being stolen, not because there was too much to be stolen, merely an illusion of everyday's normal routine. Grabbing Fleur's hand, he sensed her concentration as she was just about to Apparate them away.

"Fleur, you better save your energy. I hate to say this to beautiful little you, but you look like crap this morning. Do you happen to know where the Queen lives so that you could stay here while I ask for her permission myself?"

His worries proved unnecessary, however. The very next moment no one else but Queen Viorica herself appeared from the woods, briskly pacing towards the small group of houses, as if she'd guessed the two youngsters were seeking her presence. Answering their greeting, a respectful bow, the elderly witch smiled warmly at them.

"Good morning, my dears. Did you manage to get at least some sleep after your long journey?"

"I have, Madame Viorica, thanks for asking," Fleur answered weakly, subconsciously casting a lopsided glance at her companion. For the Queen, her tone and this glance were enough to understand that the boy barely closed his eyes, but Harry, polite and respectful as always, answered her question likewise.

"That's good to hear, my children," the Veela satisfiedly clapped into her hands. "Relax now, you are among friends. Should you need something, just ask; my door is always open to you."

Nodding her thanks, the young witch loudly sniffed, wiping her tear-stained eyes. "As it happens, Madame Viorica, we do have a small request, if you don't mind. We would like to ask for your permission to bury my husband in the village cemetery. I owe him a proper funeral instead of dumping him in a mass grave together with the four hundred other fallen."

"You don't even need to ask, Comtesa." The Queen's eyes didn't smile this time. "Mr. Weasley equally deserves to be remembered as a hero, a loving husband and a father. Who would you like to carry out the ceremony?"

"May I impose upon your kindness, my Queen?" Fleur respectfully inclined her head, answering the question with a question.

Viorica replied with a not less respectful bow. "I would be honoured."

Harry was following the brief dialogue, clearly not understanding a single word of the spoken. The Queen, however, noticed the questioning look on the boy's face and took pity on him. "Mr. Potter, we will need your presence and help as well."

Only now did the young wizard realize that all this time they were standing in front of their new home. A sudden wave of shame swept over him as he turned towards the Queen. "Madame Viorica, apologies for keeping you waiting outside. Why don't you come in and tell us what we are expected to do?"

Shooing away the boy's offer for a cup of coffee or tea, Viorica took a chair and sat down, the two youngsters occupying the two chairs opposite her. She addressed Harry directly with her words.

"A proper Veela funeral, Mr. Potter, is a short ceremony that involves three people. A Veela priestess or Elder leads the ritual saying a few prayers for the deceased. The closest male relative of the deceased – that's where you come in – has to erect a wooden pedestal beforehand, upon which the body will be laid, feet towards East, wrapped into a simple white sheet. During the final prayer, the closest female relative lights the fire that will return the body and soul to where they came from. We Veela believe we are born of fire and thus our life on Earth completes the circle."

"After the fire dies off, the remains will be given to Earth in a white coffin, its purity symbolizing reincarnation," Viorica finished her tale after a short pause.

There was silence in the kitchen. Having seen numerous tragedies in the past week, the two youngsters should have already grown numb to pain, one would have expected; they had buried the numerous victims of the Battle just a few days ago, but the finality of what was going to happen cut through them like a hot knife through butter. A few teardrops rolled down Fleur's cheeks and Harry reassuringly squeezed her hand as if trying to say "I'm here with you."

The small intermezzo didn't get past the Queen's attention but she gave no sign of what she'd seen. Invoking her Patronus, she instructed the ethereal bird with a few brief words neither understood, even with the Instant Translation Charm on, and intently watched the creature going through the wood of the wall.

"Mr. Radu, one of the Elders, will help you with your preparations, Mr. Potter. As for you, my daughter, I will be here for you the whole day, if you wish so. The funeral will be held at sunset."

* * *

"That was a pretty impressive funeral, Gin," Bill protectively draped his arm over his sister's shoulder as they stood on the hilltop, looking down at the Veela cemetery, with the low, round altar built of white marble, eight feet in diameter perhaps, in the middle. At a freshly dug grave, on a conjured bench, sat Fleur and Harry, clinging on to each other. Their tears already dried out long ago, they simply held each other tight, silently mourning their beloved.

Ginny snorted, drawing up her pretty nose. "Come on, Bill, I almost fell asleep with all this chanting."

Rolling his eyes, Bill gently brushed her fiery mane, resting his forehead against hers. "Give them a break. They needed this closure, to close this chapter of their lives. We are no longer a part of it, only of their memories, and we have to accept that. After today, it will be easier for them to live with the fact that they're on their own now."

Loudly sniffing, Ginny rested her head on the crook of Bill's neck. "At least I had a nice coffin as well. And my headstone!"

_Harry insisted on "burying" Ginny as well; he wanted to have a place he could visit that would remind him of her. He made a second coffin, identical to Bill's; brother and sister resting together now until the End of Days. He had a picture of her she'd given to him at King's Cross after his sixth year before kissing him good-bye under the disapproving eyes of the Dursleys. "I will always be with you," she whispered in his ear, not knowing what an awful prophecy she was making then._

Harry duplicated the photo using the Protean Charm. Alas, the copy lacked the magic of the original, Wizarding one; it was static, unmoving, but it did the trick. Placing the copy and a single red rose in the coffin – after having kissed both - he sealed it. Conjuring three identical headstones, he magically transferred Bill's image onto one of them from a photo Fleur had given to him. Onto the second one, he copied Ginny's photo. The inscription on the third headstone said: "In loving memory of the Weasleys, the Grangers and all fallen heroes."

"That was a fancy piece of magic," Bill nodded approvingly, "and a nice gesture. I was touched."

"Yeah, loverboy tends to be overly dramatic at times," Ginny giggled through her tears, "and you, my dear brother, are turning into a softie as well. What has become of the fearless cursebreaker I knew once?"

"A dead, fearless cursebreaker," Bill tried to joke, but he felt at once the joke was kind of misplaced. "Let's go, let these two hosepipes do their crying. I think I'm safe to assume that we can kiss away their tears and thank them tonight in our special way."


	19. Chapter 19

Harry didn't sleep this night at all. Just like every day this past week, Fleur spent the day at the Veela cemetery, grieving for her husband at the freshly erected grave and Harry, truthful to his promise, was there with her. Staring blankly at Ginny's headstone, the young wizard silently replayed the past seven years in his head numerous times, remembering their moments together starting from King's Cross in his first year and ending with that fateful second they entered that tunnel together.

Some time, long after midnight, he managed to convince the exhausted Fleur to go home and she finally fell asleep, Harry guarding her dreams. Sitting on the edge of her bed, he was watching her as she lay there, for the first time since the funeral snoring peacefully and not feverishly thrashing around, waking up half dozen times during the night screaming Bill's name out loud.

She was sleeping in a long T-shirt barely reaching the middle of her thigh and Harry suddenly caught himself on admiring her shapely, long legs in the faint moonlight pouring into the bedroom through the window they hadn't darkened, tracing them with his eyes upwards until they disappeared under the thin white fabric.

Quite ashamed, he swallowed heavily and pulled up the bed-cover, gently arranging it around Fleur. The girl muttered something incomprehensible and kicked off the cover again, turning on to her stomach. The fabric of her T-shirt pulled up in the process, arranging itself into wrinkles around her waist. Harry seriously doubted whether he would survive this moment, seeing Fleur's underwear, somewhere between a thong and a slip, baring her perfect bottom.

He was startled by a warm sensation starting to spread all over his body, radiating from his nether regions. Frightened by this feeling he was never supposed to feel in her presence, he dove into his own bed and pulled the cover over his head, trying to calm down his erratic breathing. And the expected salvation: sleep didn't come, no matter how hard he'd tried. Finally he gave up his fruitless efforts and just lay, unmoving, under his cover, silently praying he wouldn't wake the girl.

The night was cold and long and dark and there was no light at the end of the dark tunnel. When closing his eyes, Harry still saw the sleeping form of the girl in front of himself; her velvety skin, two long, taught legs that seemed to never end, her bum, two apples screaming to be bitten.

Scared by these new thoughts, he entered into a long conversation with himself in the complete silence of the night. One part, the male half, definitely enjoyed the sight and would have preferred to have more of it. His reasonable half, however, chastised him, and threw in a few selected arguments and objections summoning him to drive those thoughts out of his head. Finally, his reasonable part won and he soon welcomed the first rays of the new dawn, extremely tired, but relieved to have sorted himself out.

Still in his boxers and T-shirt, he opened the door, just like every morning, to welcome the sun and take a few deep breaths of the crystal clear air energizing him for the best part of the day. He already gave up guessing what this new day would bring; he learned to live his new life one day at a time, come what may be. It could but hardly be any worse anyway; and if it turned out better than the previous one, he gladly accepted it as a pleasant surprise.

Suddenly someone's ringing laughter hit his ears, breaking his train of thoughts, and before he could count to three, he found himself face to face with three girls. About his age and already well developed, with platinum blond hair, the three graces, dressed only into what they had been born, carried huge towels in their hands; Harry guessed they were heading to a nearby stream or lake to have a swim.

Somewhat flushed, he politely turned his head away, trying to close to door, only to be rewarded with another cackle. Seemingly not disturbed by their lack of clothing, the girls friendly waved at him, rattling something in their native Romanian he could not understand, then galloped on towards their unknown destination, soon disappearing in the woods.

"Fancy a swim, Monsieur?" Fleur's soft voice took him completely by surprise and he thought he would get a cardiac arrest this instant; only to be given away by an audible, sharp intake of breath.

"I do tend to think there must be a fair share of truth in your alleged immunity to Veela charms," Fleur continued teasing him, his tongue peeking out at the boy, as she tried to arrange his unruly hair.

"A very good morning to you as well," Harry muttered halfheartedly, but Fleur only smiled. Putting one hand on his shoulder, she softly pecked his unshaven cheek.

"I was asking whether you fancied a swim," she repeated her question, comfortably stretching her arms, almost purring in the process.

Harry flushed again. "I think I would, but on two conditions," he blurted out. "First, you change us back to our original selves, I think it's time for the real Fleur to come back." That was something both had so far forgotten, ever since they'd arrived here, now more than a week ago.

"Second," Harry continued, "you keep on some clothes, please."

"Weren't I aware of the real reason why you've just said that," Fleur frowned in concentration as she removed the partial transformation charms from Harry's face first, "I might just as well think you consider little me an ugly wench," she winked at the boy.

"Had I not known you for quite some time now, Fleur," Harry went beetroot red, " I would have thought of this as a rather provocative way to collect your daily portion of compliments."

For a second, Fleur stood speechless, something that hadn't been happening too often. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to utter anything comprehensible. Screwing up her face in a grimace, her features slowly changed back to her original self, and Harry's eyes opened wide, drowning in the beauty of the young Veela.

"Why thank you for the nice compliment, Monsieur," Fleur smiled at the young wizard. She sensed the way Harry was looking at her and it gave her immense pleasure to see that Harry liked her for who she was, even if neither of them had any romantic feelings for the other.

"Fleur, you're beautiful, you really are," Harry begged her, "but you are so much more than that. You are a brilliant witch and after Molly Weasley easily the most loving and caring person I've ever known. It's just so easy to oversee your inside because of your outside."

For the second time this morning, the Veela stood speechless. A few tears escaped her crystal blue eyes, her face reflecting a cavalcade of feelings. Then, she kissed Harry's cheek again, her lips lingering on his skin somewhat longer this time, as she poured all her emotions in the simple gesture. "You don't cease to amaze me, my dear Harry. Under other circumstances I could have fallen in love with you only for what you've just said. Nobody ever told me things like that except Bill." Suddenly, her shoulders started to shake and she burst into crying; the pain she was feeling after losing her husband was still fresh, still eating her away. "I miss him so much, Harry!"

Like so many times during these few days, Harry gently held her in his arms while she cried, not really knowing what else to do.

"I imagine what you should be thinking about me right now," the Veela finally raised her tear-stained eyes from the boy's shoulder. "I'm no better than your Moaning Myrtle, look, your T-shirt is soaking wet."

"Who cares about a T-shirt?" offered Harry, slightly confused. "Look, Fleur, we are in the same boat. I'm your friend, and you can always drench my T-shirt with your tears. After all, that's what friends are for, even if I'm a complete loser when it comes down to females."

"Don't say that, Harry," Fleur looked seriously into his emerald eyes. "First of all, you meant the world to Ginny. She loved you with all her heart."

Harry swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Didn't do much good to her, did it?" he asked sharply, but Fleur, wisely, ignored his guilt-ridden comment.

"Secondly," she continued as if nothing had happened, "'I'm not so sure I would have ever made it this far without you." Lowering her head in shame, her voice broke, barely above a whisper. "Had you died in that tunnel together with the others, I would have followed you all without hesitation. With my husband, my parents and Gabrielle, all my friends gone, you, the last survivor, were my last link to this world."

Not completely realizing the weight of what had just been said, Harry didn't really know what to answer. The two just stood there and measured each other with a serious glance.

"Let me just change into something more comfortable, and then we'll go swimming," Fleur said finally in a faux casual voice, only to break the uneasy silence that was building up. "Only, I'm afraid I will have to borrow one of your boxer shorts if you want me to be decent, as you seemingly might not like my usual style of underwear." Sharply turning around, she left the dumbfounded boy to his thoughts, only to emerge from their bedroom a few minutes later in a tight sleeveless T-shirt and one of his boxers.

For a split second, Harry was wondering whether her wearing anything or not would have made a difference; her simple clothing perfectly displayed her magnificent forms and left absolutely no room for imagination.

"You will have to forgive me for skipping the bra," Fleur offered with her usual, genuine smile on her face that almost made Harry melt, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "You boys don't even imagine how uncomfortable they are."

"Whatever..." It was the only answer, a very limited and not-so-intelligent one the young wizard managed to provide, knowing pretty well what embarrassing situations her state of clothing - or rather the lack thereof - might bring forth.

Having picked the two big towels from the bathroom, the duo set off in the same direction the three young Veela had just left. Harry's intuition didn't fail him, as it seemed; there was indeed a big pond, or rather a small lake just about half a mile from the small group of houses, on the other side of the small forest. The loud laughter of the three girls already gave away their presence before they could see them. Seeing the newcomers, the girls exchanged a surprised glance, then one of them, seemingly the oldest, said something to Fleur in Romanian in a voice showing a certain amount of respect, to be followed by the other two. Harry understood only the words "Comtesa Delacour", a token of respect to Fleur's position in society.

His companion, however, hugged the girls in a friendly manner, accompanied with her usual smile, and said something to them in rattling Romanian, then pointed at Harry.

"Erm... Hi..." Harry tried not to sink through the ground in his embarrassment, what with being around the three very properly naked Veela and feeling his hormones starting to rage, but Fleur took pity on him. Taking his hand, she waved goodbye to the three and led them further on the shore, a somewhat secluded place, out of their sight. Harry couldn't be more thankful to her, and as soon as she stopped, throwing her towel on the ground, he followed her example and before the girl could count to three, he already took a dive into the crystal-clear water.

"Holy Christ!" he cried out, when he managed to come to the surface again. He was not the most experienced swimmer and the lake turned out to be unexpectedly deep and the water incredibly cold. "Couldn't you just warn me or something before I got a cardiac arrest?"

Joining him in the water, Fleur winked at him cheekily. "I thought you could use some natural cooling, that's all."

"Minx!" Harry muttered half-heartedly, but Fleur had good ears. Taking a big breath, she disappeared under the water and the next moment Harry found his boxers dangling around his knees. Struggling to pull them back on, his eyes sought up the Veela, but couldn't find her anywhere. Already starting to panic, the boy desperately searched for Fleur, he even dove under water again.

Sputtering and coughing, he came to the surface, feverishly looking around himself, while trying to catch his breath. Then he saw her, a mere few yards ahead of him. Emerging from the water like a goddess, the thin, wet fabric tightly following her magnificent curves, the Veela smiled broadly at the boy, with a barely perceptible nod signalling him "catch me if you can". No need to ask twice, Harry accepted the challenge and swam towards her, his eyes burning with the wish to take his revenge.

Quite amusing herself, Fleur swam further away from him, keeping a comfortable distance. As sure as she was in her superior swimming abilities, she completely missed the barely perceptible gesture of Harry's right hand; the mild wandless jinx slowed down her just enough so that he easily could catch up with her. The last few yards he covered slowly like a lion lining up with his prey before the final attack.

"It's not fair!" Fleur objected meekly. She didn't like his predatory glance for one bit.

"In war, my dear," Harry smiled, swimming yet another yard closer, "everything is permitted." The girl's eyes grew the size of a saucer as she suddenly realized what he was up to. "Don't you dare, hear me? I promise I will behave! Don..."

It was too late. A second later she was already writhing in Harry's hands, giggling under his merciless tickles. To tell the truth, the boy did a thorough job, quite enjoying himself in the process.

His hand inadvertently brushed against her breast as the girl, exploiting a brief pause in her 'punishment' sharply turned in his hands, almost freeing herself in the process. As if electrocuted, he immediately let go of her but neither of them moved. Then he slowly, very slowly raised her hand again, and, as if in a haze, gently touched her on the same spot, following the contours of her bosom with his index finger, the spark of their game in his eyes briefly replaced by a spark of lust and desire.

When he finally realized what he was doing, Harry went dead pale. Without saying a word, he turned away from Fleur, and swam towards the shore as quick as he could. The girl tried to stop him, calling out loud to him, but in vain; it was as if he hadn't even heard her. Reaching the shore, he climbed out of the water and, forgetting about everybody and everything ran back to their cabin.

Not even trying to go after him, Fleur silently watched him until his figure disappeared in the woods with an immensely sad expression on her face, pressing her hands against her breast, where the boy's touch still burned her skin through the thin fabric of her wet T-shirt.


	20. Chapter 20

"What's wrong with you, Harry?" Fleur stormed through the door, crossing the kitchen and ditching her soaked clothes on the move. Wrapped in another, dry towel, she joined the boy at the table and sat opposite him.

"Harry, look at me. What happened?" she repeated her question when she got no answer on the first one. The boy, until now examining his hands on the table, slowly, sadly raised his face until he met the girl's glance.

"I abused your trust, Fleur, that's what happened," he finally replied, after another minute of uncomfortable silence. "I was supposed to protect you, not to feel you up like this. And, what's even worse, I betrayed Ginny's memory. In my dreams she told me that we eventually would have to let go of each other, but I just can't. I still love her with all my heart."

Fleur made a wry grimace and stood from the table, igniting fire under the kettle."I think there are a few things that we have to set right," she said with a strange finality in her voice."You are a healthy young man who just happened to be in the company of a female for a few days in a row, sometimes in somewhat... compromising situations. You have always behaved as a perfect gentleman, even when other men wouldn't have. It's natural that your hormones are raging, especially considering all the outside influence you are getting ever since we came here." Harry wanted to interject, but Fleur held her hand up. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her suddenly somewhat harsh voice made Harry swallow his sentence back; he had never heard her talking to him like this and for a moment he thought, he really believed that he had lost her friendship. When she continued, however, her voice was soft as silk again and he mentally wiped his forehead.

"I know you like me, Harry, I can see it from the way you look at me and I see this as the most beautiful compliment I could ever get from you or anybody else. I also know that you would never do anything to hurt me, you'd rather cut off your arm than do that. To cut it short: stop acting childish. You didn't abuse my trust and I don't think you ever will."

She's reading me like an open book, Harry thought, but felt himself considerably better after hearing out her long speech. That wasn't all she wanted to bring to his attention, however.

"For the same reason, I don't think you've betrayed Ginny's memory. If you look into yourself, you will understand that I am right, so I'm not going to waste any more time on this. Right now, I'm taking a shower and while I'm laying the table for breakfast, you can have yours."

Not even expecting an answer, she turned her back to the boy and moved towards the bathroom. Turning her head to the boy while opening the bathroom door, she flushed prettily. "I never thought I would say that but I can't imagine allowing anyone else to touch me the way you just had and not hexing him into next century for that."

While she was away, Harry ditched his wet clothes as well and toweled himself dry to stop himself from shivering, then just sat back in his chair with his towel, magically dried and heated, wrapped back around him. It didn't help too much, but it made the situation at least somewhat bearable until he could have his hot shower and a fresh set of clothes.

Someone's soft hand touched his shoulder, his skin electrified by the light contact with hers. "Your turn, Monsieur," the blue eyes smiled at him. He silently nodded and rose from the table, but the hand didn't move. "You have to understand, Harry, that Veela in general are more casual about nudity than humans. If it makes you more comfortable, I think I can restrain myself."

"What if I don't want you to do that?" Harry blurted out without thinking, something he had been doing frequently these past days. Fleur questioningly drew her eyebrow. "I don't want you to be different than you normally are, Fleur," Harry did some damage assessment. "If this is who you are, then I guess I will have to live with it."

"I got the message, Harry," Fleur's eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "Now on with you, I'm hungry," she gently nudged the boy towards the bathroom.

They devoured breakfast in no time, then cleaned up the kitchen after themselves.

"What if..."

"I'd love to..." they spoke in unison, then Harry gestured with his hand. "Go on,"

"Shall we take a walk back to the village, just to look around?" offered Fleur. "It IS a beautiful place and I think we both will like it here."

"Just what I wanted to propose, Fleur. But how about showing me that Instant Translation Charm of yours first?" Harry countered, producing his wand. "My Romanian is slightly sub-par, I'm afraid."

Nodding her agreement, Fleur produced her wand from her rear pocket as well, and pronounced the incantation, swishing the wand in a circle around herself. On the third try, Harry got it right and Fleur approvingly patted his shoulder. "There are more specific translation charms, but this one will just do. It's an old one but applicable to every language. Shall we?"

"Shall we?" Harry offered his arm to the girl. Stepping outside, they locked the door of the cabin and, still arm-in-arm, set off towards the village.

"Stupid git..." Ginny filtered the words through her teeth. "Stupid, noble git."

"And why's that, Gin?" Hermione lovingly brushed her friend's hair as they watched the two on their way.

"He almost fainted when he touched me for the first time. I had to grab his hand and press it on my boobs before he could run away. I think he was afraid that it would get bitten off."

"Gin, Harry is not like other boys, he'd never been. He never knew what it was like to love and be loved before you two started dating," Hermione gently chided her. "He's always afraid to hurt the ones close to him. And, you forget about his lack of experience with girls in general." She blushed prettily, what didn't skip Ginny's attention. "Hermione, is there something I'm missing?"

The brunette was silent for a moment. Then she drew a sharp breath and, biting on her lower lip, spoke again. "Do you remember your first kiss with Harry?"

"I do, yes," Ginny offered, slightly confused. "But... what's that got to do with you?"

"ItwasmewhotaughtHarrytokiss," Hermione blushed even further.

"Pardon me?"

The brunette huffed annoyedly. "Don't make me want to sink through the floor, Gin. It's already weird enough." Shaking her head, she gave in. "A few days before Christmas in our sixth year I had one of my usual fights with Harry about that blasted book. He was only halfway there, barely listening to whatever insults I was shouting at him. Finally, I gave up and asked what his problem was." She stopped briefly, but seeing Ginny's affirmative nod, went on with her tale.

"Harry admitted to me that he had been fancying you for quite some time and was planning to ask you out. However, he also admitted that he was scared as hell to do so, seeing that he never kissed a girl before properly. I... well... I proposed him that I would teach him how to kiss..."

Ginny listened intently to her best friend. She couldn't miss the deepening blush on Hermione's face and already suspected what had happened back then. Nevertheless, she warmly smiled at the brunette, nudging her to continue. "Spill, Hemione. I want to know everything about my playboy's love life before me!"

"Not helping here, Gin, you know," Hermione shook her head. "Anyway, a heart attack or two later, your playboy agreed and we started our lessons."

"Did I just hear 'lessons', in plural?" Ginny cackled. The brunette bit her lower lip again, lowering her head. "The poor thing thought he would die this instant when his lips touched mine for the first time. I did have to Scourgify my face, he wanted to perform well so badly. The second lesson went much better, though. Call me a scarlet woman, but I really enjoyed it. He was so gentle and tender and caring that I forgot about you, Ronald, everybody and everything and just melted in his arms. Were snogging a Hogwarts discipline, he would have managed an 'O', that's beyond question," Hermione sighed. "Do you hate me now, Gin?"

"Why should I hate you? For the most brilliant witch of your age you can be pretty daft sometimes," Ginny hugged the other girl to herself. "And, to be honest, you did a damned good job on your lessons which, I'm sure, he had been thoroughly enjoying just like you had." Now it was her turn to blush.

"There's one more thing I wanted to say, Gin," Hermione looked into the other girl's eyes. "At that time, your git of a brother had hurt me very badly. When Harry held me in his arms, when he gently roamed his hands across my body, I simply ached to belong to him. Had he wanted to have sex with me, I would have given myself to him without that much of hesitation. Now, if that doesn't make me a scarlet woman, I might just as well be declared a saint."

"Since Harry was still free prey back then, I don't think I could have had anything against that; nor could I have changed anything, had anything happened between you two," the redhead offered her hand to Hermione. "You two did nothing wrong, just like these two here didn't. Our time is up here," she pointed to the mist that had started forming around them. "They are safe now and that's what matters. Let's go back to Bill and Ron before they start searching for us."

Looking at her friend's sensuous lips, she drew a sharp breath. "Oh I'm pretty sure he had enjoyed his lessons with you."

The duo reached the village in the meantime, which was already fully awake. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, some people were busily working in their gardens, two boys - about ten years of age - were chasing a small flock of geese that had somehow managed to escape and now were heading towards the lake driven by their instincts. A few people raised their heads from their work and greeted the visitors, and the two answered their friendly words, thanks to the Translation Charm that worked perfectly.

What must have been the main square of the village was a circle formed by somewhat bigger, slightly more luxurious houses, maybe 30 yards in diameter. The three girls they had previously met were sitting at a table in one of the gardens behind their breakfast; when they saw the two, one of the girls stood and invited them in. Refusing an invitation was not an option, Fleur told Harry; so they agreed on a cup of coffee saying that they had already eaten.

The three Veela were actually triplets. Though they seemed very much similar, Harry learned to distinguish them in a few minutes. The first one, Elena, had the same colour blue eyes as Luna's and spoke very little. The second one, Michaela, had straight, long hair almost reaching her bum, and a small scar above her upper lip. Finally, Catalina, the most sexy and most adventurous of the three, leading the word at the table.

They had known Fleur from her previous visits to the colony and now were eager to hear all the latest news and gossips. However, the news the two had brought from the outside world were grave; the girls cried while their guests told their tale. Crossing themselves quite a few times, just like Mihai did, they said a few short prayers for the fallen and for a moment there was complete silence. It seemed as if all life stopped around, even the birds forgot to sing.

Elena's eager answer to Harry's question as to what had just happened surprised him quite a bit and made him reconsider quite a few things in what he knew about these wondrous creatures. Being Elementals, the Veela had a much tighter connection to Mother Nature than usual people; they shared their pain and joy with the outside world and shared Her emotions as well. While Elena spoke, Harry intently watched the girl, who somehow seemed much older and much wiser than her age and the longer she spoke, the more she reminded him of his Ravenclaw friend.

A healthy piece of apple pie arrived together with a refill of coffee, courtesy of the girls' mother, who happened to have attended the same school in Paris Apolline Delacour, Fleur's mother had, and the five got more and more drawn into their conversation.

It was very uncommon among Veela to have even twins, and quite many females were not even fertile; a result of centuries long degeneration and in-breeding, Catalina continued, every now and then casting a glance at Harry that was hard to misinterpret. Harry picked up her signals as well and moved his chair slightly away from her, closer to Fleur. His companion, of course, smelled the pheromones in the air but said nothing; she was quite curious how far Catalina would go and silently amused herself at the show.

"Do Veela men also have the same abilities?" Harry emptied his cup and put it back on the table with a slightly louder 'clank' than expected, a clear signal of being slightly irritated with Catalina's futile attempts to impress him.

"I'm afraid not," Catalina smiled briskly, as if nothing had happened. "It's a girl thing, you know. Almost as a beehive. The males are here to work and to please us and we get to pick the fruits. Our powers start to manifest when we reach 12-13 years of age and by the time we reach adult age, they are at their maximum. Look! Isn't it beautiful?" She held her hand in front of the boy's face. A single yellowish red spark danced around in the middle of her palm, then suddenly turned into a soaring flame as the girl let her charms loose on him, and Harry involuntarily backed off as if her were afraid to burn his eyebrows.

The Veela cackled in a rather unpleasant way and closed her palm, revoking the flame. "When a female has non-Veela among her ancestors, her capabilities will be lesser than those of a full-blood Veela." Her lopsided glance at Fleur left no illusions in Harry as to who she was referring to. And indeed, he was right. Moving closer, Catalina as if inadvertently brushed her hand against his, looking him in the eye. "Whose fireballs do you like better, Mr. Potter, mine, or hers?"

"Don't waste your powers on him, my dear," Fleur smiled at the girl, who was royally puzzled. Any other male would have been laying at her feet drooling, but not this one, and, like Ileana, this made her feel somewhat vulnerable and pissed her off. "If he could withstand Ileana's rather specific ways of courting, he can easily resist yours, mine, or anyone else's, for what that matters."

Catalina questioningly furrowed her brows."Talking from personal experience, Comtesa? You tried to seduce him?"

"You forget that up until a few days ago I had a husband, Catalina, and I'm not one to burn a candle on two ends, nor am I someone to jump into someone else's bed right after having buried my husband." Fleur filtered the words though her teeth, and the atmosphere around the table suddenly chilled down quite a few degrees. "Even if I had tried it, I would have failed miserably. Ileana took her chance, however, and Harry didn't even flinch, only when he tied up her hand after she'd thrown a fireball at him."

The other Veela measured Harry with badly disguised interest and there was even a hint of appreciation in her glance. "Served her right, the bitch," she pronounced slowly, exchanging a swift glance with her sisters.

Michaela took over word, nodding barely visibly. "See, Ileana already thinks of herself as our future Queen and quite frequently behaves as such. Being the Queen's granddaughter, however, doesn't automatically mean that you will be the next in line. Sometimes, very sometimes, the Queen names someone else as her successor instead of passing her title down the bloodline."

"Hmmm... let me guess... and you three silently hope that the Queen's choice will fall on one of you instead of Princess Ileana." It wasn't a question, rather a statement, and from the girls' badly disguised surprise Harry understood at once that Fleur's well-aimed arrow had indeed hit her target. "Which of you is the one I should soon be calling 'My Queen'?" Fleur already knew the answer, but decided not to play all her cards. "Elena, you? You are too shy for that. I don't think that would be Michaela either."

Locking her eyes with Catalina, she saw she was right about her suspicions. The girl's eyes were ablaze with her lust for power, even if she said nothing.

Fleur stood. "As an outsider, I have no rights to get involved in your political intrigues, even though I have to admit that you would probably be a better fit than Ileana. I don't want to be involved with anything that even remotely resembles politics as it had cost me the life of my family, my husband, all my friends, not even mentioning the fact that it would be highly untactful of me to turn myself against those who had offered me refuge. You will have my back if need be, but it will remain among us."

Harry followed her barely perceptible wink and stood as well. "Thank you for your hospitality, girls, and I hope you will be able to return the visit soon."

"Anytime, Prince Charming," Catalina whispered into his ear, while she pecked his cheek, gently squeezing his backside. Seeing the somewhat comical, helpless expression on his face, Fleur almost choked from laughter, however she, wisely, tried to keep her emotions under control and invisible.

"I think the roles got seriously mixed up here," Fleur smiled, hooking her arm into Harry's, as they took the road back to their cabin.

"And why is that?" Harry made a not-so-intelligent face.

"My Prince Charming..." Fleur's phrase made him understand that she had perfectly heard Catalina's words, "instead of you falling under Veela charms it seems these poor girls are falling under yours. Tsk, tsk, I don't even dare think how many girls' hearts will be broken here soon."

"If they continue like this, a lot," Harry retorted. "At present it's only yours and mine. What do I have to thank this rather abusive interest to my humble person?"

"You are fresh meat, my dear. Fresh meat and fresh blood. By having your child one would bring fresh genes into the Veela bloodline, something that is crucial to the survival of my race. There's something more I should warn you about as well. If the news spreads that you're immune to Veela charms, you might expect a long queue of volunteers in front of our door every morning wishing to prove the contrary."

Harry emitted a frustrated moan. "Shall I spread the news that I swing the other way then so that they would leave me alone?"

"Won't help," Fleur shook her gorgeous head. "They might consider it as an ever bigger challenge. I might have a solution, but you probably won't like it. We will have to spread the news that we are a couple, and we will have to maintain the façade, at least in public, something we have been excelling at these past few days. Holding hands, a few innocent kisses, I think that would do the trick. There will still be adventurers, but significantly less."

Harry groaned again. "Please don't misunderstand me, but I don't think we should do that. At least I don't think I could do that, kissing someone with no real emotions behind. It wouldn't work anyway; your kin would see through us right away."

"As you wish," Fleur drew up her shoulders. "You have been warned." Harry completely missed the dark expression momentarily overshadowing her beautiful face.


	21. Chapter 21

"Finally!" Slightly out of breath, Ileana caught up with the two.

"You could have Apparated, you know," Fleur coolly regarded the Princess. "Why the honours?"

"The Queen wishes to see you," Ileana changed to a formal tone. Fleur patiently waited a few seconds, feeling that not all had been said, and indeed, she was right. "That old bitch!" The other Veela suddenly burst. "Commanding me around like a messenger boy!"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken, she IS your Queen, so she has every right to give you orders," Fleur indifferently drew her shoulders. An undecipherable expression flashed through Ileana's face, confirming her suspicions. The Princess said nothing, though, and Fleur quickly made up her mind. "Shall we go?" she grabbed Harry's hand and nodded to her. "The Queen shouldn't be kept waiting. Show us the way please." A completely obsolete thing; she knew perfectly where they were heading from her previous visits to the Colony, but some formalities needed to be observed.

The Queen's home was only slightly different from all other houses in the village. Somewhat bigger on the outside, somewhat more luxurious on the inside, nothing gave away the true identity of its owner. Ileana opened the door in front of the guests, then stepped aside, letting the two enter first and following them afterwards. She led them towards the sitting room, then silently disappeared behind one of the doors, only to return a few minutes later, keeping a respectful distance behind her grandmother.

Queen Viorica gestured her guests to remain seated and barely perceptibly nodded to her granddaughter, who disappeared again, then pulled an armchair closer to the table and sat down as well.

"Are you managing to get some rest and heal your wounds, after all ordeals you've been through recently?" she asked without any introduction. "Thank you, Your Majesty, we certainly do," Harry answered politely. The elderly witch amusedly drew up her eyebrows. "May I suggest you leave out most of the formalities, young man? After all, we are not at Buckingham Palace, and I dare not compare myself to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Look around!" She pointed out of the window with a wide, somewhat theatrical gesture. "What kind of kingdom do I have?"

Now it was Harry's turn to feel puzzled by this unexpected intro. The Queen, as most Veela, was a good Legilimens and clearly understood the boy's unspoken question.

"Until 1946 I was the second richest person in this country. Then the communists came and took away everything including my whole family. In one year, half of my people were killed or imprisoned under one or another false implication. Who survived the purge either fled to these hills or abroad. Right now, there are no more than a few thousand Veela, male and female, with more than one sixteenth Veela blood in their veins on the whole world. This is what's left of our species."

For a moment, she started out of the window with an immensely sad, dreamy look on her face. No one dared interrupt her silence. When she spoke again, her face wore a perfect mask.

"Enough of the sentiments of the past, my dears. Let's talk about your present and future instead." Her next question was addressed straight to Harry. "What do you think about this place?"

The young wizard tried to pick his words correctly. "It's beautiful up here, Your M... Madame Viorica. It's so peaceful and tranquil, exactly what our scars need to heal."

Nicely put, Fleur thought, approvingly nodding. Not too much, not too little, precisely enough to win the Queen's sympathy.

"Glad to hear it, young man," the Queen smiled. A perfectly human, absolutely honest smile, without any backdoor thoughts. "You two are very welcome to stay here as long as you wish. We have everything we need and we share everything with those in need." She emitted a bitter laugh. "We have built the same communism here long ago that Ceausescu's dogmas had been promising to everyone for decades. Only we had succeeded and they not."

Ileana returned, putting a tray with tea and biscuits on the table, then disappeared again, as silently as she came. Before the Queen could even move, Harry already grabbed the teapot and filled her cup, then Fleur's, leaving himself as last.

"Thank you, young man," the Queen smiled again. "It's nice to see that not all youth had lost their manners yet," she spoke with a slight edge in her voice, much louder than necessary. Footsteps were heard from behind the door, then the entrance door closed with a loud bang. "Oh, child," Viorica shook her head with a disapproving look. She took a sip from her tea and placed her cup back on the table, examining the young man.

"I'm not putting you through the 'Veela Test', Mr. Potter," she smiled, seeing the concentration on his face. "I happen to know that I would fail anyway, which is remarkable, but not unexplainable. Even if I didn't know about the horrors you had survived, I would still sense the pain that overshadows your heart and soul. Relax, Mr. Potter, you are at home now. Mourn your dead, cry over them as much as your heart wishes to cry, but don't give up your will to live. Life is a precious gift that only our Holy Mother may give or take."

"I do not deny that I have been questioning the latter ever since my fianc e died, Madame Viorica," Harry made a wry grimace. "It would have been my easiest choice, believe me. There are, however, people who need me, to whom I swore to protect them and I wholly intend to do it better this time."

"Young man, I'm only an outsider in this question, but take this from me as from someone much older, someone who had seen many things and hardly the most pleasant ones. Against that force you had been fighting, you never had a chance, but you still put up a formidable resistance until the very end. Your friends' death was not your fault and it will do you no good to keep convincing yourself of the contrary.

"Still as stubborn as the very first time I had met him," Fleur lovingly chided her friend.

"The very first time we met, Fleur, I was drooling all over you turning the floor of the Great Hall into a swimming-pool, thank you very much," Harry half-heartedly retorted, his thoughts seemingly somewhere else.

"That may very well be the case," Fleur blushed slightly, "but your stubbornness saved Gabrielle's life during the Tournament..." Seeing the boy's features change into something undecipherable, sad and angry at the same time, she warningly raised her hand and her voice, completely forgetting about protocol and ignoring the Queen's presence. "Shut up or I'll hex you into next Sunday, Harry. I'm getting sick of having to repeat the same thing to you all over again, but Cedric's death wasn't your fault, and neither was Sirius' death." Harry immediately swallowed back the words forcing their way out; he could imagine more pleasant things in his life than getting at the wrong end of a Veela fireball.

"Now that you managed to sort things out," the Queen's eyes shot a few playful sparks, "why don't we discuss your future instead? Your tea is getting cold, young man." Harry, slightly embarrassed, emptied his cup in one gulp and refilled all cups.

"As I said previously, you may stay here as long as you wish, and I hope however long you decide to stay, you will remember this place as something pleasant," the Queen curtly nodded, acknowledging the boy. "You won't have to worry about food; we grow our fruit and vegetables ourselves and we have more meat and poultry than we need. Should you need anything else, you can buy it on the Thursday market in the village nearby."

"Do we have to disguise ourselves while on Muggle territory?" Harry's survival instincts kicked in.

"No, Mr. Potter," Viorica shook her head. "There's a sophisticated charm concealing the village and the true identity of its inhabitants that only those who live here can see through. Outside the village, you are a simple Transylvanian villager speaking with a simple Transylvanian dialect."

Placing her hands on the table, she intently watched the two for a while. "While it's generally against our customs to ask for a favour for a favour made, there's something you could actually help us with. Our school teacher, Angela Radulescu passed away two weeks ago. Would you mind taking her place, Comtesa?"

"If you think I can be of any use, my Queen, then most certainly not, of course," Fleur answered formally. "I'm afraid I don't have any practical teaching experience and I will have to use a Translation Charm all the time, but I will do my best."

"You will be doing just fine, my dear," The Queen smiled at the young woman. "Mr. Potter, I have a small request to you as well. As you might know, we are lacking quite a few strong manly hands here. We want to build a bridge between this hilltop and the Old Shepherd and you might be able to help. If not with your hands, then with your wand. We don't have too many skilled wizards here, I'm afraid."

Nodding his agreement, the boy, for the first time today, looked into the Queen's eyes. "That's the least I can do to express my thanks for having put us up, Madame Viorica."

"Very well then, young friends," Viorica stood, indicating the two that the 'audience' was over, and they followed her example. "I'm sure you have better things to do than listening to an old woman's chatter. Get some rest and enjoy your stay."

Watching through the window as the two youngsters strolled down the narrow path towards the main road, the elderly, powerful witch had many things to contemplate over, and not all of them pleasant.

After a lazy, casual day and a healthy supper - the thick stew Harry prepared was quite edible and neither got food poisoning - the two walked down to the lake again. Harry sat down, leaning against a century-old tree, and Fleur lay on the ground, comfortably stretching her legs, using Harry's legs as a pillow.

Raising his head, the boy carefuly examined the incredibly clean, endless, starry sky. "Ginny would have loved it here," he whispered, as if not wishing to disturb the eternal peace of the magnificent forest where every tree seemed to be alive, every leaf breathed, every bird sang in unison with Mother Earth's heartbeat. "She is somewhere up there now, looking down on us and wishing she could sit with me, just one more time, the way we used to sit by the pond behind the Burrow."

He felt Fleur nod her agreement. "I can't cry for her, Fleur. Not any more. I will forever cherish her memory and the memory of those few days, weeks we had spent together and I will mourn her properly, but I have no more tears left. It's just... not fair that she had to go, so beautiful and so young, and Ron, Hermione, Bill, Gabrielle, all those people. For what?"

"I can't give you an answer, Harry," Fleur sat up, turning to the boy. "No death makes sense, no death serves a purpose."

"I don't know what to do, Fleur," Harry feverishly grabbed the girl's hands, their faces within inches. He felt her hot breath burn his cheek as she spoke after a short pause.

"Live, Harry, live, one day at a time, like I do. That's the cleverest thing one can do. I still have a purpose in my life and so do you, even if it might be not that obvious at times."

Harry squeezed her hands again and the girl involuntarily hissed from pain. "I do have a purpose, Fleur. I will help you raise your and Bill's daughter as if she were mine. No child should grow up without parents, and if my life's no proof for that, then what else is?"

"Oh, my dear Harry..." The boy's display of honest selflessness caused Fleur to temporarily lose her ability to speak. Suddenly she freed her hands from his grab, only to place her palms gently on his cheeks, and, momentarily overwhelmed with her emotions, captured his lips in a soft kiss, completely forgetting about everybody and everything.

His heart beating a wild sarabande, Harry found himself eagerly answering her kiss, gently pressing her precious body tight against his. Holding her away at arm's length, he swallowed heavily a few times before he managed to speak again.

"Whoa, Fleur, I'm trying to breathe here, you know," he tried to turn his embarrassment into a joke. "Who gave you the right to take my breath away and get away with it unpunished?" Fleur retorted, equally embarrassed but broadly smiling. Occupying her previous position, she looked at him from underneath. "I'm really thankful to you for that, Harry. I have only one question. Why would you do that? Why would you possibly want to raise someone else's child?"

"Because we are family, at least in my eyes we are, and because there's no one else who could, that's why. And, should you manage to find someone more suitable, someone you would want to share your life with, just let me know. I won't stand in the way, I promise."

"Oh, no, you won't get rid of us so easily, Monsieur," Fleur smiled at the stars, gently caressing her belly. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me and Gabrielle for quite a long time. First of all, because at this moment I can't even stand the thought of dating anyone, not so soon after Bill's death. Secondly..."

She took a pause and shivered lightly. Producing his wand, Harry cast a mild Heating charm around them and covered her, conjuring a more or less acceptable blanket. She felt his hand slide under the blanket and tensed up a little, only to relax back a moment later, when the hand gently lay over hers on her lower abdomen. For a strange, unknown reason, she didn't find this somewhat bold gesture misplaced; she felt utterly content and perfectly safe in his arms. "Secondly," she breathed out, swallowing heavily, "should I ever be looking for a man to share my life with, I would never be able to find a more perfect dating candidate than you, mon cher."

The rising moon found them peacefully sleeping, spooned up against each other under the blanket.

A huge grey wolf came from the depths of the ancient forest. His nose drawing in the many exciting smells of the May night, he slowly neared the sleeping youngsters as if not willing to disturb their dreams. Sniffing at the two for a short while and gently licking at both faces, he emitted a short bark that could very well have been interpreted as satisfied. His pointed ears captured the familiar, distant call of his pack members and, turning his snout the direction he'd just come from, sent a series of short, excited howls towards them.

Comfortably arranging himself on the ground, the wolf lay his head on his front paws. To the outsider he might have seemed asleep, in reality he was very well awake, guarding the peace of the two youngsters. Only when the first rays of the new dawn reached the ground and tickled his eyes causing him to sneeze loudly did he stand up and, carelessly stretching his legs and profusely yawning, trodded back to his hole to catch up with his sleep, silently hoping that his pack had saved him some leftovers from tonight's hunt. At the edge of the forest, he turned around one last time, casting a last, sad glance at the two. A few huge, almost human teardrops rolled down his cheeks, until they got lost between the fine, silvery hairs.

It was Fleur to wake first. The strong, spicy smell of young grass tickled the young witch's sensitive nose and she sneezed loudly. Then, she made an attempt to sit up, only to find Harry's hand still draped over her and their fingers still locked on her stomach. Feeling the comfortable warmth of the boy's presence, she involuntarily smiled, snuggling closer into Harry's protective arms. It was a feeling of complete safety, something she had felt only in Bill's arms, in those crazy, wonderful, blissful times that had seemed now centuries ago in a place that might have never even existed. There was, however, a completely new feeling that puzzled her. These past few days, weeks, spent with Harry 24x7, she had learned more of the young wizard than in the three years that she had known him and even if she had had any doubts about him before, by now they were history. She knew he would do anything for her and she would do the same for him.

I don't love him, she called out loud. It didn't sound unnatural, although Fleur asked herself whether this was the truth. After a short mental battle with herself, carefully weighing her arguments, she came to the conclusion that this somewhat awkward, somewhat uncomfortable status quo suited them both for the time being, and with regards to the future, well... they would see.

She felt Harry stir and from his changed breathing she guessed the boy was wide awake. Gently untangling her hand from his, she turned around, only to look straight into the bright emerald orbs of Harry's eyes.

Good morning, Harry, she greeted him smiling. Seems like we've had a romantic night out here.

Harry, for a moment, didn't know whether or not she was teasing him. Finally, he decided to take a neutral standpoint.

Yeah, you can say that, he managed a small smile. I wanted to wake you, but you were sleeping so peacefully that I simply couldn't. Weren't you cold?

Oh no, by no means, Fleur answered honestly. Your charms were working perfectly. The Heating charms you'd cast, she added quickly, seeing the puzzlement on Harry's face. And your other charms as well, she added mentally, but she didn't think Harry should have been informed about this simple fact, as of yet.

Jumping up, she stretched her legs and arms, almost purring in the process. Pointedly ignoring Harry's marvelling glance, she vanished their makeshift bed-cover and in a smooth movement pulled up the boy from his sitting position as well.

Let's go, she sang, making her way towards their cabin. I need a shower and a quick bite, it's Thursday. Seeing Harry's less-then-intelligent look, she burst into ringing laughter. Thursday, market, anybody home? The young wizard resignedly drew his shoulders. Oh, that!

I want to buy a few small things for our new home, Fleur explained. Besides, I'd love some fish for dinner and the forel caught in the rivers in the area is simply awesome. You will like it.

If you say so, Harry smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. Now you make me feel hungry as well.

Once inside, Fleur grabbed a new set of clothes from her bag. Quickly pecking Harry's nose, she flashed one of her trademark smiles at him.

Give me ten minutes and I'm all yours.

Ever since their arrival, they didn't manage to clean the cabin that must have been uninhabited for months, if not for years. Harry, at first, opened the windows, letting the fresh May air in. Then he attacked the cupboard, dusting it off with his wand. Arranging their clothes neatly on the shelves, he saw to breakfast. While slicing bread and breaking a few eggs, he heard the water running from the bathroom and heard Fleur's sweet voice sing in French. He couldn't make out the words, but he instinctively felt a great burden had fallen from the girl's shoulders, now that they were in safety; the song was quick and happy and it made him feel considerably better.

The song stopped and Harry went on with the breakfast as if nothing had happened. Quickly laying the table and boiling water, he waited patiently for the girl to emerge from the bathroom shaking her gorgeous head on the go and arranging it into neat waves. She didn't come, however, and Harry started pacing around the kitchen as a caged animal.

Ten more minuted passed and she was still nowhere. Harry, worried about her, quickly made up his mind and went up to the bathroom door.

Fleur, Fleur! Are you there? Are you all right? he drummed on the door, more and more desperate by the minute. There was still now answer, however, and Harry decided it was time for more desperate measures. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered the bathroom full of vapour.

Fleur lay on the floor, completely unmoving, in a somewhat unnatural position, her face ashen and her eyes unseeing. A thin line of blood went down her inner thigh, mixing with the soap-bells on the floor and painting them red. 


	22. Chapter 22

Seeing the girl's state made his thinking switch over into fifth gear. Not really caring at this point about her state of dressing, he carefully picked her up from the floor, and – not willing to waste a second – Apparated directly to the bedroom with her. Gently laying her on the bed, she covered her, trying to keep her warm and frantically Apparated away, not even noticing that he'd Splinched away his shoes.

Materializing in front of the Queen's home, he started banging at the door. "Help me! I need a doctor! Help me!" he shouted out of breath. On the third _bang_ the door opened, revealing the Queen herself standing in the doorway.

"What is it, Mr. Potter? What happened?" she inquired. Seeing the wild panic in the boy's eyes, her face turned ashen. "Calm down, Mr. Potter, and talk to me. What happened?"

"Fleur... bleeding... unconscious..." the boy barely managed to breathe out the words. Without a word, the Queen reached her hand towards him and he, as if mesmerized, took it. The very next second, he felt a tingling sensation in his whole body and before he could count to three, they materialized inside the bedroom.

For Madame Viorica it was enough to cast one single glance at Fleur to understand that something was terribly wrong. Invoking her Patronus – a Snow Eagle – she directed the ethereal bird to some place only she knew. Making an impatient gesture towards the boy, she sent him out of the bedroom.

"You did everything you could, Mr. Potter. Maybe we are not too late. But now, please wait outside, it's not for your eyes. Now!" Seeing him hesitate, she raised her voice, spiking it with a magical edge, and Harry suddenly felt that his legs were no longer obeying him but carrying them out of the room instead. The bedroom door closed behind him with a loud _bang._

Back in the kitchen, he sat down at the table, burying his head in her hands. He knew, he instinctively felt that Fleur being unconscious and all that blood could mean no good. Silently praying to whatever God or Goddess there might have been for wizards, his heart hoped that everything would turn out fine with his companion and her unborn daughter.

At this point the door opened and two unknown, middle-aged women entered the cabin. Without saying a word, they marched towards the bedroom, only one of them casting a sad glance at the young wizard. Harry's heart sank into his intestines. He knew these women must have been the ones Madame Viorica had sent her Patronus. Recognizing the faint scent of chemicals the two were carrying along, he made out at once that they must have been either Healers or whatever the Veela equivalent thereof might have been, or Muggle Doctors, but at the same time he knew Fleur would be in good hands and his initial panic subsided a little.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened wide, featuring a rather morose-looking Queen. Through the door opening Harry saw that the room was empty. Throwing all protocol and all precautions aside, he ran through the door, almost knocking over the elderly witch, only to see his worst suspicions come alive. Apart from the blood-stained bedlinen there was no sight of Fleur or the two Healers.

Apologetically raising his tear-stained face at the Queen, he breathed out three words. "Where is she?"

"Relax, Mr. Potter, she's in good hands," Madame Viorica put her hand on his shoulder. Fighting his urge to shrug the hand off and run outside, Harry said nothing, only cast a stony look at the witch. Finally, after a minute of volatile silence, his features softened a bit.

"Where is she, Madame Viorica?" he asked again the question he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer for.

"Comtesse Delacour is in good hands, Mr. Potter," the Queen repeated patiently, forcing a smile on her wrinkled face. "As we speak, she's tended to by two... Healers, is it how you call them? She's lucky that you reacted so quickly."

"I should have known there was something wrong with her," Harry muttered under his nose, offering a chair to the Queen, which she thankfully accepted. "I should have checked on her earlier when she abruptly stopped singing."

"I don't think she would have appreciated you disturbing her beauty shower," the Queen's eyes cast a playful spark, while sipping from the still hot coffee Harry had offered. Seeing the boy turn beetroot red, she put down her cup and reached for the boy's hand. "Fleur knows perfectly what a gentleman you are and she wouldn't have misunderstood you. I will take you to her when the Healers stabilize her state."

"Will she live?"

"I'm no Healer, Mr. Potter," the Queen sighed loudly, "I wish I were and I wish I would be able to give you the answer we both long to hear. As far as I understood, she's in no direct danger, again, thanks to your quick thinking."

Harry made a wry grimace. "What about Gabrielle?" Seeing the Queen questioningly furrowing her brow, he elaborated further. "Her daughter, Gabrielle?"

There was a minute of pregnant silence. Both said nothing, but from the Queen's sudden change of demeanor Harry instinctively understood something terrible must have happened. He immediately felt the false edge in the witch's voice when she spoke up. "As I said, I'm no Healer, but I'm sure she will be just fine, Mr. Potter."

"_What a cold-blooded, lying bitch you are, Viorica," _she silently chided herself. Having lost her first child exactly the same way, she knew precisely what had happened the same moment Harry almost broke down her door, and the first diagnose of the Healers further confirmed her suspicion. Nevertheless, the boy didn't need to know all truth at this point and the most important thing right now was Fleur's health.

A raven-Patronus flew in the kitchen through the open window and rattled a few words into the Queen's ear, then, having done its duty, dissolved in thin air. Understandingly nodding, Viorica rose heavily, suddenly seeming ten years older. "I will have your house cleaned while we are away," she spoke. "Now, we will see Ms. Delacour. One request, Mr. Potter. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, smile. She needs you now more than ever, even if you can't replace her Mr. Weasley in her heart. Your hand, please."

Accepting the offered hand, Harry felt that curious tingling in his body again, as the Queen Apparated them away. The neat, two-storey building, in front of which the two reappeared, wouldn't have misstood in any English city.

"Our St. Mungo's. Of the Veela, I mean. Here's our kin treated, should they need medical attention." The Queen pointed at the entrance and nodded the boy to follow him. The heavy door opened and the Mediwitch at the reception desk respectfully bowed to the newcomers. From the short conversation to follow Harry understood nothing; he forgot to cast the Instant Translation Charm and now he cursed himself for his forgetfulness.

"We can see your Fleur now," Madame Viorica smiled warmly at the young wizard, at the same time somewhat curious whether the possessive pronoun was really in place. Following the Mediwitch's instructions, they walked up the stairs, stopping in front of a simple white door, the Queen sending her Patronus in again. The two Healers Harry's already seen responded immediately; the door opened, letting the Queen through. Harry was just about to follow her, only to be stopped by Viorica's impatient gesture.

"I won't take long, Mr. Potter, I promise. You can stay here afterwards as long as you want, the staff had been ordered to give you as much privacy as you wish. That Translation Charm of yours, however, would be wise to cast right now." And Harry did so, when the room swallowed the Queen, and he was left alone to his worries and thoughts.

Pacing up and down the corridor, he was contemplating about Fleur's chances when the door opened again. "Mr. Potter, you can come in now," the Queen called him. "Like I said, you may stay here as long as you wish. Should you want to return to the village, use this Portkey. It will work multiple times, either way." \

"Thank you, Your Majesty, for... for everything," Harry blurted out.

"You are very welcome, young man," Viorica smiled at him, stepping closer and kissing his forehead in a very motherly way. Waving her goodbye, the very next moment she was gone, and Harry's attention turned to the young witch lying in the impeccably clean bed.

She seemed so fragile, so tiny, with her face still dead pale and dark circles under her eyes, that Harry's heart did a worried double somersault. _She must have had a rough day, that's for sure_, he thought as he tiptoed to the bed, carefully so that he wouldn't kick over the blood transfusion pole. Sitting down on the other side of the bed, he gently took her now parchment-white hand into his and just held it as something precious, unmoving, while the young Veela was sleeping. It was hard to tell how long he was sitting there. Twice the door opened and one of the Healers he had already seen came in to check Fleur's vitals, casting a half-smile at the worried boy but saying nothing. Twice the Healer left without as much as giving him at least some indication about Fleur's state. Suddenly, the girl's eyes fluttered open and Harry exhaled sharply from relief. She was alive, and it was all that mattered to him at this point.

Blinking a few times with her eyes, Fleur finally recognized him and managed a small, tired smile. "Harry! Is that you? What happened to me?"

Lowering himself above her, Harry gently kissed her forehead, her hand still in his. "Welcome back, Fleur. You decided to scare the crap out of me, that's what happened," he decided to turn things into a joke.

"Harry! Seriously, I don't remember anything after going into the shower," Fleur pouched her lips in a faux hurt gesture.

"Well, you decided to take a very long beauty shower, maybe even too long to my liking," he spoke softly, gently brushing her hair out of her face. "After half an hour, I started banging on the bathroom door, you didn't open, so I took the risk of my manhood being hexed onto my forehead and went into the bathroom." Hearing Fleur's weak laughter, he made a short pause.

"Why did you think I would do such things to you, Harry?"

"Now it's irrelevant, Fleur," he cut the embarrassing question short. "Anyway, I saw you were lying, unmoving, on the floor, so I brought you to bed and covered you, then Apparated away for help. The Queen sent some Healers for you who brought you here and I came here with her some time later. But that's not important. What more important is, how do you feel?"

"Well, I've been better, that's for sure," Fleur nodded. "I feel so tired, so weak, I can't even tell you. As if a half dozen elephants had been dancing tango on my stomach, it hurts so bad."

"Fleur, you've lost quite some blood. From... from your woman parts, you know, and I don't think it was simply nature calling," Harry carefully elaborated, watching the reaction on the girl's face. His calculation, unfortunately, was right; Fleur radiated panic.

"My daughter? Gabrielle? Is she all right?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," Harry raised her knuckles to his lips. For some reason, this intimate word didn't at all seem misplaced at this intimate moment, even if Harry didn't realize he had pronounced it. "We will have to ask a Healer when she checks on you next time. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with Gabrielle," he took in a defensive position, seeing the girl's lips twitch, close to break down.

"I will not survive if anything had happened to her," Fleur raised her tear-stained face, her bluebell-colored eyes meeting Harry's emerald orbs, painfully squeezing his hand with the remainders of her strength.

Harry had no answer handy to this unspoken question. "We just have to wait and see, Fleur, what the Healer says, but please, don't think of the worst right away. You will have a beautiful daughter and I will spoil her rotten."

Even in her miserable state, Fleur managed a small smile. "You are a terrible liar, but thank you nevertheless. Could you press that button? I need something against the pain, it's getting worse and worse." Her face contorted into a painful grimace and Harry was all to happy to oblige. The Healer appeared almost immediately, making her was silently towards the bed. Attentively listening to the young witch's complaints, she carefully adjusted the IV, and Fleur nodded her agreement, feeling the instantaneous effect of the administered medication. Her eyes closed down and she fell in healing sleep.

The Healer was already in the doorway when she felt Harry's hand on her shoulder and turned around. "What can I do for you, Mr. Popescu?" \

_So, this is my alter ago, the result of the Concealing charms the Queen had spoken about, _Harry thought. "How is she?" he asked the Healer, hoping that his Translation Charm was working.

"Your wife has lost quite some blood, Mr. Popescu," the older woman started in a dry voice. "She is still in serious condition, but we were on time, thanks to you. I would say two-three weeks and she will be her old self again, but she will have to rest a lot to regain her strength."

"What about her … our child?" Harry almost blew their cover, correcting his mistake the very last moment.

The witch's face turned McGonagallishly stern. "I'm afraid, Mr. Popescu, that you have lost your child. Your wife had a miscarriage, which is, unfortunately, not uncommon among her kin, caused by either excessive stress or excessive physical effort." Harry swallowed heavily, silently acknowledging the bad news.

The Healer's face softened a little and she gently put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry for your loss. I will be back in an hour to check on your wife. In the meantime, should you need anything, just call for me like you just have." Another silent, absent-minded nod, and Harry wiped away his tears.

"Thank you, Doctor," he whispered, making his way back to the bed.

When the door closed behind the Healer, Fleur opened her eyes. "I heard everything, Harry." _Bollocks, _the boy thought, _I should have spoken to the Healer outside the room._

"That wouldn't have helped, Harry," Fleur continued his thoughts in a weak voice. "I already suspected as much, and she would have told me anyway." Suddenly breaking into hysteric tears, she covered her face with her hands. "Bill! Our beautiful Gabrielle is gone!" she cried.

Harry tried to comfort her as much as he could, holding her to himself, but she abruptly pushed him away. "Leave me alone!" she shouted at him.

"But Fleur..."

"I told you to get out of here and leave me alone! _Je veux dormir!_"

Suddenly, a small fireball whizzed past his ear and, completely missing its target, smashed into the opposite wall. The boy slowly turned around and, with immense sadness in his eyes, made his way towards the door. He completely missed the girl's last words, whispered into the pillow.

"_Je ne veux pas dormir... je veux mourir..."_


	23. Chapter 23

It's hard to tell how long Harry was sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the corridor. Time had lost its meaning to him and he was feeling numb inside. With Fleur and Bill's daughter gone, gone was their last link to the world that up until a few days ago was theirs and to the family both had considered their own.

Fleur must have been going through hell on Earth, he thought, as he stood and, pressing his ear to the wood of the door, tried to catch any sound, any voice coming from the room. Gabrielle was her only palpable memory of Bill, his flesh and blood, and now, she was alone.

He started pacing up and down the corridor, nervously wringing his hands. He hated this feeling of complete helplessness, but he knew there was nothing he could do to help Fleur at this point. He could - and he would - be there for her, as he had always been, but this was a fight she had to fight and win.

"How is your wife, Mr. Popescu?" Raising his head, he found himself face to face with the Healer, besides her a small cart carrying two trays with food.

"She said she wanted to sleep," Harry sighed resignedly.

The Healer nodded understandingly. "She is going through Hell now, Mr. Popescu. There's nothing more tragical for a woman than to lose her child. A much deeper bond exists between mother and child than a man can ever imagine with all respect," she apologetically raised her hand. "Knowing that that tiny life that had been growing inside you, you have been nurturing, talking to, singing lullabies, is now gone, can break a woman's heart worse than any cheating husband. Been there, seen that all." She lowered her head, seemingly distressed, and Harry instinctively felt she had been speaking from experience. "I'm sorry," he offered, somewhat at a loss what else he could say, but was rewarded with another small smile.

"I'm going to check on your wife, Mr. Popescu," the Healer guided him back to the bench, "and I strongly suggest you eat something until I'm in there. You will need all your strength to help her through this." Pointing to the cart, she nodded reassuringly, and disappeared in the room.

Harry took one of the trays from the cart and carefully examined its content. In a bowl there was thick, steaming soup that seemed okay and he slowly, without appetite, ate it, accompanying it with a thick slice of fresh bread. He, however, thirstily drank the ice-cold orange juice from the strange, octagonal glass on the tray. Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he raised his head from the tray, only to see that the Healer already exited the room and was standing in front of him.

"Try to make her eat at least a few spoonful, Mr. Popescu. She's being IV-fed, but normal food would do good to her, be it rather morally than physically."

Nodding his agreement, Harry impulsively hugged the older witch to himself. "Thank you, Mrs..." The witch wore no nameplate, however, so the end of the sentence hung in mid-air.

"You may call me simply Ariana," the witch smiled at the young man.

"In that case, you should call me Ioan," Harry returned the ball.

"Very well, Ioan, I will check on you two in an hour again." With these words, she was gone, leaving Harry to his demons again.

Silently opening the door, Harry wheeled the cart into the room, bringing it to a halt at Fleur's bed. She lay on her side facing him, her lips pressed together, her eyes staring into the nothingness, but she didn't cry. To Harry, it was a sign much worse than if she were crying.

Carefully sitting down on the bed, he produced the soup bowl and the spoon from the tray.

"You know, I'm starting to like Romanian cuisine," he started in a faux casual voice. "This stuff here," he pointed at the bowl with the spoon, "is quite edible. I never thought hospital food can actually be tasty."

She said nothing, but didn't turn away from him. Harry considered it as a good sign and, somewhat encouraged, went on blabbering. "I think you should eat a little of it." A loud sniff and Fleur slowly turned on her other side.

Harry decided to change tactics. "You know, this freaking bowl is actually too hot to hold in my hands, so I'll just add a few spoonfuls of soup into your IV fluid. A barely audible, nervous scoff, and a long silence. Then, much to his surprise, Fleur turned back to him, still silent. Her glance, however, was drilling holes into the boy.

"All right, I get it," Harry rose heavily from the bed, replacing the bowl and the spoon on the tray. "I'm outside, you scream if you need me."

Halfway to the door, he was stopped by Fleur's weak voice and turn around abruptly as if stung by a bee.

"Harry, I know you mean it well, but I'm absolutely not hungry. I've just lost my daughter and can't think about that stupid food."

Forgetting about fireballs and insults, Harry knelt besides her bed. "Fleur, sweetheart, I'm so sorry for your loss. I would really like to turn back time so that all these horrors would have never happened to you, but I do not have the powers. I just want you to know that I will always be here for you, no matter what."

"You are really, really sweet, my dear Harry. Only, now you won't have a little girl to spoil rotten."

"I can always spoil you rotten, if that helps," Harry blurted out without thinking. For the first time today, a faint shadow of a smile appeared on the Veela's tired, pale face.

Suddenly, Harry got hit by an idea. Producing his wand, he absentmindedly twirled it in his hand, scratching his ear rather comically with his other hand. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed happily, reaching for a slice of bread. His heavily modified Transfiguration Charm worked at the first try and he victoriously pocketed his wand again.

"A croissant, perhaps?"

Suddenly, he felt her long fingers gently caressing his face and he heavily swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry for... for the fireball... and for the yelling..." Fleur spoke weakly. "You, of all things, didn't deserve anything of that."

Harry made a shooing gesture with his hand, threatening to sweep off the contents of the tray onto the ground. "You need not apologize, Fleur, I completely understand. We are in the same shit and we will swim through it together."

"I love your sensitive, poetic nature," the girl emitted a muffled sound, distantly resembling a suppressed laughter. Harry flushed red, but deep inside, he wanted to dance around the room. Not all was lost.

"Seven years with the Weasleys and a madman behind your back sworn to kill you can do wonders to your sense of humour," he scoffed drily, trying to mask his emotions.

Fleur suddenly shifted on the bed, reaching for Harry with her hand that wasn't attached to the IV. "Help me up, please. I may be mistaken but I think I've just heard the word 'croissant'."

Slowly munching at each bite, without appetite, she ate the whole pastry nevertheless. "Thank you," she said in an expressionless voice, when she was finished.

Just like that night, in the hotel room in Brussels, Harry gently cleaned her up, fighting with this sudden feeling of deja vu. Nodding her thanks, the Veela looked intently into his eyes.

"What am I going to do now, Harry? There's only so much a woman can handle and I think I've had my share of it for the rest of my life. How am I going to live further, having lost everything and everybody worth living for?" Nibbling on her lower lip in a rather Hermione-ish way Harry had always thought was kind of sexy, although never voiced this opinion to the girlfriend of his best friend, Fleur's fingers absentmindedly toyed with the cloth of the bed-cover.

"Throughout these past few years, I saw my friends and the remains of my family being decimated and I understood how precious a gift life really was. Too precious to throw away like I did when I was drowning myself in self-pity or guilt for something that hadn't been my fault. Back then, I had no life, barely a sorry excuse of an existence, expecting Hedwig every morning with one of Hermione's letters starting with 'My dear Harry' or Ron's 'Hi mate' to keep me alive for the coming day, and when those letters didn't come, I died a little. Then, 1 September came, it came always, and I returned to Hogwarts and started to live again. By all means, Fleur, your life is a gift in itself that's worth living for."

Not remembering hearing Harry ever speak so much in a row, ever being so adult, Fleur intently listened to his words. Nodding a few times through his long speech, she silently digested the words of this precocious young man. He wasn't done yet, however.

"Fleur, I cannot replace your family, Bill, all your friends, everyone you've lost these past weeks. I just want to know that I will always be here for you, no matter what, until you tell me to go away and never look back. You may yell at me, throw fireballs at me if that helps, I do have better reflexes than you anyway."

Emitting a dry laugh, Fleur looked at him with an incredibly sad, yet very soft expression on her face. "Thank you, Harry, for being such an awesome, caring friend. You realize that I'm going to make your life a living hell, don't you, making mine the same in the process?"

Harry pulled his featured into a weird grimace, relaxing his hand on the girl's shoulder. She suddenly felt so tiny, so fragile under his touch, as if all her strength, all life force had been sucked out of her, what was most probably very close to the truth.

"Try me. I've been living in Hell ever since I set foot on the Hogwarts express and heller than it is now I don't think it will ever get. Same thing valid for you, if I'm not mistaken. Lower than this, neither of us can fall."

"And Harry, as for the reflexes, I wouldn't be so sure," the Veela warned him. "I have been Beauxbatons Duelling Champion, just for the records. So, if you see me slipping out of control of my powers, which will, most probably, happen quite often in the near future, just walk out. I couldn't bear the thought of incidentally hurting you. Please! Promise!"

"Only if you promise that you will not be hurting yourself," all smile disappeared from the boy's face. His eyes flashed in the semi-darkness of the room, his wand emitting a few nervous sparks.

"I would swear a wizarding oath if my core weren't depleted," admitted Fleur in an annoyed tone. "Good enough?"

"For me, it's as good as an oath," Harry's fingers gently brushed her face and she snuggled her cheek into his comforting, warm hand. A strong surge ran through their bodies, leaving both gasping for breath. "What was that?"

"I think I'm slipping," Fleur sighed resignedly, taking a few deep breaths. "You'd better sit outside for a while."

"Want to get rid of me so easily? You'll have to throw a few fireballs at me first," Harry tried to turn it into a joke. Supporting her so that she could comfortably lay back, he leaned over her and gave a soft peck on her cheek. "You try to get some sleep instead, love." Nodding slowly, the girl's heavy eyelids closed and she soon submerged into a dreamless sleep.

Watching his peacefully sleeping friend, Harry's eyes filled with tears. What had she done to deserve so much pain? Why are we such helpless, so easily disposable pawns in this cruel chess game called Life, with the Powers-that-be behind the chessboard pulling the strings? More a statement than a question, actually, as there was no one around the could ask and he doubted that even Dumbledore could have given him an at least somewhat satisfactory answer. With these disturbing thoughts, he slowly dozed of as well, still sitting besides his broken friend in an upright, awkward position, his hand never leaving hers.

He spent the whole day at Fleur's side, who slept over the most of the day. Afraid to leave her for the night, he conjured himself a bed beside hers, but sleep didn't come easily; every few minutes he woke and listened into the darkness, searching for the familiar sounds of her breathing in the complete silence of the night.

At Fleur's own request, having fought and lost a short but intensive verbal battle with the young witch, the Healer released her from the hospital the next morning. Harry popped home for a change of clean clothes and Fleur's jacket using the Queen's Portkey. Helping her fresh herself up in the tiny, but neat bathroom, he helped her change out of the hospital robe into the clothes, turning his head away from her nudity in his usual, gentleman-like fashion and when they were done, activated the Portkey again.

Materializing in their bedroom, he offered Fleur to lay down and rest, what the girl promptly refused. "I want to sit outside, if you don't mind," she answered weakly, heavily plopping down on the bed. Harry understandingly nodded and commanded the two chairs and the small table onto the porch with his wand, planning to have breakfast on the fresh air.

Sitting down outside, Harry covered the girl against the sudden chill of the morning. Fleur relaxed her head back in the chair, closing her eyes. At first, Harry thought she was asleep, but her weak voice suddenly startled him. "You don't happen to have more of those croissants, do you?"

Smiling under his breath, Harry cut a few slices of bread and performed the Transfiguration Charm again, casting a mild Heating charm at the pastries; warm croissants were tastier, she used to repeat quite often. Placing them on a plate, he quickly boiled some water, directing another Heating Charm at the kettle and made some tea. Once done, he occupied his own chair.

"Strange," she spoke in a dreamy voice, her eyes still closed. "It's so beautiful here, so peaceful, and I should be enjoying myself here instead of debating with myself about life and death or contemplating about the easiest methods of suicide."

"Don't even... don't even dare think about it, Fleur!" Harry swallowed heavily. "I beg you, throw these thoughts out of your head!"

"Easy for you to say, you hadn..." Fleur abruptly swallowed the continuation of her sentence. Harry, of course, had lost just about everybody he had cared for, so this argument, she felt, must have seemed rather empty. On the other hand, she had felt just about as empty, without an aim to live for, with no one to live for.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she continued simply, cutting her train of thoughts short."You will have to be very patient with me in the days, weeks to come. It's just... I'm just an empty shell right now, and I can't find a single purpose, a single reason to live for."

"I want to live for you, Fleur," he fought his tears back. "You are my purpose to live for, even if I'm just me and not Bill or your family or friends you've lost." She tiredly opened her eyes and slowly turned towards him. "I've never heard a more beautiful confession of love, my dear Harry, even if you and I both know what you precisely meant by saying that."

Turning towards the table, she picked a croissant from her plate and turned it around a few times, sniffing at it. "It may sound ridiculous how such a simple thing can turn into something you want to hold on. When I was a small girl, three, maybe four years old, I could eat half dozen of these for breakfast with tons of strawberry jam. Needless to say, I wasn't the thinnest child around, until our GP sat down with my parents and opened up all her cards. I would develop diabetics, she said, and my parents got scared. Diabetics is incurable, Muggle or Wizarding science, so I got an ultimatum from them. Une croissant pour le petit dejeuner, something that turned into a habit ever since, as for most Frenchmen." She took a healthy bite and satisfiedly closed her eyes.

"Small things, small memories like this can provide an anchor to hold on in bad times," she wiped her mouth with a napkin after she was done with the pastry. "See, even without suspecting, you may just have saved my sanity." Scoffing in disbelief, she raised her eyes to meet his. "I don't think I really want to know what you must be thinking of me right now. 'Food-obsessed, neurotic wench' might even seem too kind for the occasion."

"Shut up, you food-obsessed, neurotic wench, otherwise I'll hex your tongue to your back," Harry offered lovingly, his emerald eyes shooting a few playful sparks.

"Tu es encroyable," Fleur shook, amusedly, her gorgeous head. "All right, I take 'food-obsessed' back, but you can't deny me my pleasure for the second part."

"This is what I call 'wenchful thinking'," Harry blurted out, quickly diving under the table when Fleur launched the second croissant at him. Easily capturing the pastry mid-air, he stood and slowly walked to Fleur's chair, holding the pastry in his hand. The girl's eyes grew the size of a saucer. "Don't you even dare..." Then, she fell silent, pressing her lips firmly together, trying to seem unaffected by her favourite treat.

"Oh yes, I do dare, if it doesn't go the easy way..." Harry whispered into her ear, suddenly pinching her nostrils together. A few seconds later, her mouth opened, and Harry promptly pushed the corner of the pastry inside, then took the run of his life towards the house in search of shelter.

"Harry Potter! I will have you know that I'm soooo going to hex your manhood onto your forehead and display you in the London Zoo as an endangered species of rhinoceros when I get you in my hands!" The girl's ringing laughter echoed long in the ancient forest, even after her last syllable died away. 


	24. Chapter 24

The small cemetery on the outskirts of the colony saw another funeral, a tiny coffin lowered into the still fresh grave of Bill and Ginny, daughter joining father and aunt in eternal peace.

The next few days after the funeral it was touch-and-go with Fleur. She had her good moments, when she smiled and laughed and teased Harry, and she had her bad moments, crying, cursing, or just sitting somewhere silently, unmoving, fixing her glance onto some point known only to her. She was spending most of her time at the cemetery again, sitting besides the grave, remembering times that would never come back. Physically, she was on the mend but mentally, Harry feared, the old Fleur was gone forever.

A few times, Harry tried to return her to life, to cheer her up, to draw her attention away from those disturbing thoughts, bad memories, that had been slowly eating her away. Hit by an unknown paralyzing curse once, he decided he would leave a few things to her to sort out on her own and come to terms with. Of course, Fleur apologized to him a few minutes later, and of course, he forgave her immediately, even if his legs wouldn't listen the next two days, a side effect of the curse, but he learned to distinguish between bad mood – when distracting her would work - and even worse mood – when he had better be somewhere else but in her proximity.

Harry himself was in no better shape, though. Having reached the relative safety of the Veela colony, it seemed as if some kind of restrain fell off him. Something that had been forcing him so far to be there for the girl, to be brave and strong, something that didn't let him properly assess all the horrors that had happened, grieve for his friends, mourn all the fallen and, more importantly, come to terms with the fact that Ginny was gone forever.

Both souls hurt, both in pain, and solace came not. Where and who would it come from, anyway? Those few who could have provided it were dead, and those alive couldn't care less about their tragedies. It was only the two of them against the whole world now and for quite a long time they seemed to be losing this fight.

They went through their daily routine as robots: woke, washed, ate, slept, spending the rest of the day in complete silence or bickering about something unimportant. Tears came mostly at night when they both lay, unmoving, in their bed, watching the ceiling with glassy eyes, listening to the chirping of the crickets outside.

Harry would wake in the middle of the night in tears, crying his lover's name out loud and Fleur would sit with him, hugging him to her chest and shedding countless tears for both of them until the two, exhausted, finally would fall asleep in the small hours of the new dawn that would bring no ease for their pain.

Fleur would, while preparing breakfast, destroy half of the kitchen in one of her not-so-silent rages, throwing glasses and plates against the wall. Feeling the soft touch of Harry's hand on her shoulder, she would turn around, casting a murderous glance at him, then her gaze would soften and she would relax into the young wizard's comforting hug, breaking out into hysterical sobs.

An unusually warm June, the small clearing was covered with early flowers and a few dozen paces away from their home there were a few wild strawberry plants. Harry would pick a bouquet of flowers and put them into a jug with fresh water without saying a word, returning fifteen minutes later to see Fleur pressing the flowers against her nose, inhaling their subtle scent, her eyes closed with contentment. He would leave a handful of ripe wild strawberries on a small plate, as if accidentally, only to see ten minutes later droplets of strawberry juice making their way down on Fleur's chin while she was reading a newspaper.

Their closest neighbour was an elderly Muggle woman, Cornelia, once married to a Veela male. Her husband having passed away two years ago, she decided to stay in the village and not to move in with her distant relatives in Şighişoara no matter how often they had been asking her. On a sunny morning she knocked at their door. Fleur answered the door, weakly smiling at the woman. Without a word, Cornelia crossed her thrice, the orthodox way, and then hugged her, the two women understanding each other in a heartbeat. As if apologizing for her sudden outburst of emotions, she stepped back, arranging her wrinkles into a broad smile.

"I've got a small present for you, my daughter," she rattled in rapid Romanian. With a broad gesture, she pointed to a wooden cage behind her that contained a cock and two hens, both freckled white, the race commonly known as Transylvanian White. "I thought you might want to have some fresh eggs."

"Harry!" Fleur called her friend. "We have a visitor!"

Ten minutes later, the three sat comfortably behind the table sipping their coffee and enjoying small talk without too many details. For a welcome change, it was nice to talk to someone else, to hear a friendly voice, not to think about tragedies, despair and grief. Harry immediately offered his help to repair a few things in and around her house, after all, there was nothing a skilled wizard like him couldn't do with a wand.

Fixing her leaking roof, a shabby table and two broken chairs didn't even take half an hour, and by the time he was done, satisfiedly pocketing his wand, Cornelia emerged from the kitchen, carrying a huge bowl of steaming chicken soup.

"Your beautiful friend needs to eat better to regain her strength," she spoke squeamishly, thrusting the bowl into his hand. Seeing the somewhat comic disbelief on his face, she shook her greying head. "I cook for myself every day anyway, so I just made a bigger pot."

They reached a comfortable agreement with Cornelia: she would cook for the three of them every other day and Harry and Fleur would help her around the house and in the garden in exchange. This agreement suited both parties: with their limited cooking capabilities they were soon bound to end up with omelet for dinner every day and Cornelia, with her aching back, was unable to keep up with her household and care for her beloved roses.

The first friendly hand reached for them, and for the first time since the horrors they'd faced they felt that not all was lost. Harry was all to happy to voice this opinion of his; Fleur cooled his enthusiasm off very quickly nevertheless.

"Depends on what you consider 'a normal life', Harry. For you, it would be normal to wake up every morning with Ginny in your arms, basking in your love and build plans for the future. As for me, I would give my left hand and most probably my left leg as well to be able to wake up at Bill's side, his arms protectively draped over me, and feel that tiny little life inside of me kick and grow, day by day. Life will never be normal again, my dear, barely a vague shadow of what it had been previously. What's gone will never return."

Not precisely what Harry had been expecting to hear, Fleur's sad monologue kicked him low in the stomach. He remained completely silent for the rest of the day, even during the short courtesy visit of the Queen he spoke nothing except a few polite formalities.

That night, Fleur woke to a strange silence. Seeing that Harry's bed was untouched, she suddenly became wide awake, a jolt of panic rushing through her veins. Quickly putting on her house robe, she started looking for the young man to no avail; Harry was nowhere to be found in the small cabin. Openly panicking now, she rushed through the door and slammed it behind herself, the loud _bang_ rudely disturbing the peaceful sleep of the ancient forest. The cold nightly air cooled her somewhat off and she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and think rationally.

Summoning one of Harry's socks, she performed a weird-looking charm and the wand on her palm slowly turned as if it were a compass. Rushing to the direction indicated by the wand, she found herself shortly afterwards at the small lake, her eyes almost immediately catching sight of Harry sitting on the ground with his back against his favourite tree.

"I thought you'd left," she addressed him in an almost as-a-matter-of-factly voice, only her trembling hands giving away his properly shaken mental state.

"And may I know what made you think so?" he responded coolly, not even looking at her.

Slightly taken aback by this answer, Fleur, for a moment, didn't know what to make of all this. "You haven't been yourself, these past few days," she started cautiously. "I saw you hadn't slept in your bed, so I decided to check on you."

Harry slowly, without interest, turned his head to face her. "I've been living in a lie, ever since we came here. I thought, I hoped, that we should be able to mourn and say properly goodbye to everybody we'd lost. Well, I can't. I hoped to be strong enough, to be here for you, as I had promised. Well, I can't. I can't put Ginny out of my head, I can't believe she won't be with me any more. I will walk this world as a punishment that I didn't take care of her as I had promised, and because I'm a chicken and can't make an end to all this to join her in the Shadowlands." He stood with an immensely sad expression on his face.

"What you said today, Fleur, was a blow to the stomach, no, rather a kick in my groin, nevertheless it was the truth. Life will never be normal, no matter how hard I will try to make it normal for you and for myself as well." 

"What are you planning to do about it, Harry?" Fleur asked sharply. "Please don't tell me you're sitting here outside at two o'clock in the morning giving me a philosophy lesson just for the sake of fun. What are you up to?"

"I'm leaving, Fleur," Harry lifted the small bag, until now lying on the ground at his feet, on his shoulders. "You are with your kin now and you're looked after better than I could ever possibly have; you don't need a crybaby like me any more."

"I see." There was no emotion to be seen on Fleur's face, her flat voice barely audible, even in the complete silence of the night. "So now that we are here, and I'm left completely alone, you decide that all of a sudden I won't need you and you won't need me any more. Care to tell me whether you are running away from _me_, from y_ourself_, or from _us_?"

"I'm running away from my life, Fleur," Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "My past will always haunt my present and my future, therefore I will never be able to lead a normal life, hence not giving you the chance to lead yours."

"Has it ever occurred to you that _**I**_ might not want you to leave? That _**I**_ love you and need you, my only friend, as much as you need me, even if neither of us wants to admit?"

"Fleur," Harry made a hesitant step towards her, speaking very softly, "I'm no use, no help for you. I can't bring back from the dead everybody you'd lost and I can't give you the life that you, this lovable, sophisticated, beautiful young woman, really deserve. These days, weeks, ever since we're here, were nothing else but a farce, a show. All this holding hands and hugging, that kiss we shared, were misplaced and awkward and unreal, to say the least. _This is reality._ You're better off without me."

"You never thought of giving me the chance to make it out for myself? Never wondered what I really wanted? And I thought you were different from other boys," Fleur spat in a venomous voice. "Run away from yourself, and shove up your famous Gryffindor courage you know where. Get out of my sight! You disgust me!"

Harry tried to say something, but Fleur's murderous glance stopped his words before they could escape his throat. Sharply turning around, the girl walked back towards their cabin, Harry's tear-stained eyes following her until her sleek figure disappeared behind the trees. Then he set off, not really knowing where he should be heading to, his heart heavy with the irrevocability of the moment.

Hardly did he make two dozen steps when he heard a strange noise behind his back. The huge grey wolf, his pointed snout excitedly drawing in the boy's scent, stood only a few paces away from him. Harry turned in one swift movement, on the run reaching for his wand, only to find that it wasn't where it was supposed to be: in the holster he had fabricated on his left forearm, when the wolf struck. Graciously setting off from his rear legs, he covered the distance to the boy in a giant leap, but didn't aim for his throat, didn't aim to kill. The sheer mass of the animal multiplied by the energy of his jump simply kicked Harry off his legs and the boy, in his fall, hit his head against a stone. He still vaguely sensed that the wolf roughly grabbed his leg, his canines tearing into Harry's flesh through the fabric of his jeans, and started to pull him to a direction known only to him.

Cursing out loud, Harry tried to sit up from his awkward position, his leg still dangling from the animal's mouth, and hit the wolf with his bare hand – he was determined not to become his dinner – but was rewarded with a sudden, excruciating jolt of pain in his head and thankfully passed out.

The wolf didn't make his way to the darkest depths of the ancient forest where his pack was hunting this night. Every twenty paces or so, he let go of the boy's leg and sniffed around, trying to pick up the faint trace of smell he was following. Emitting a satisfied bark, he returned to the unconscious boy and resumed his walk.

Even for the huge alpha male, it wasn't a careless nightly stroll and it took him a good half an hour before he covered the distance separating them from the cabin. Slightly out of breath, he let go of Harry's leg and sniffed at the door, nodding satisfiedly in an almost human way. Sitting down, he raised his front paw and scratched a few times against the wood of the door, emitting an excited howl.

Fleur sat in the kitchen, unmoving, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes. When she heard the howl, she shook out of her reverie and blinked a few times with her eyes, puffy and red from crying. Then, a second howl was heard, this time clearer and louder, and she decided to take a look, summoning her wand. Opening the door, she saw the wolf sitting on her porch and, frightened from the sudden appearance of the huge animal, she couldn't suppress a shriek. To her greatest surprise, the wolf graciously rose and, instead of attacking her, at first sniffed, then licked at her left hand, gently nudging her with his pointed snout.

She hesitantly raised her hand and scratched the wolf's silvery fur between his ears. The wolf suddenly made a rather humanesque gesture with his head as if inviting her outside and she, not even knowing why, obeyed. Only then did she see the lying figure of Harry, unmoving, a few paces away. The wolf graciously walked ahead, stopping by the young wizard and licking his face. Then, he turned around one last time and locked his eyes with the young witch, excitedly waving his tail, then set off again.

For some reason, Fleur found the yellow eyes of the furry visitor disturbingly familiar.

"_REMUS!_" Her sudden, surprised cry echoed far away in the ancient forest and she stepped towards the animal but he already disappeared between the bushes, without as much as saying his goodbyes.


	25. Chapter 25

The cold jet of water emitted by Fleur's wand splashed into Harry's face, effectively washing sleepiness out of his eyes. At first he struggled remembering where he was, his eyes wildly running around in the half-darkness, until he finally remembered the by now more or less familiar interior of their refuge.

"Get up, I don't have all day," Fleur spat in an unnecessarily cold voice. "Breakfast is ready." Taken slightly aback by this less-than-friendly wakeup call, Harry carefully examined the young witch's tired face, her red-rimmed eyes, her slightly trembling hands. Then, remembering last night's events, he lowered his glance, while he climbed out of the now soaking wet bedlinen.

"_Allez, allez_," Fleur urged him with an impatient gesture while she flicked her wand at the window blinds that opened up, letting brisk sunshine and crystal fresh air into the small bedroom; air that smelled of flowers, den trees, freshly cut grass and wet earth, and pleasantly tickled Harry's senses. He saw the other bed was either untouched or already made up, he couldn't decide, but he understood at once that the young witch must not have had a long and proper night's sleep.

He stood up and decided to go to the bathroom to get the day started but Fleur was standing in his way. He raised his eyes to meet the girl's glance but the next second wished he hadn't. There was such an intense mixture of pain, hurt and hatred in those eyes that he wanted to sink through the floor in his shame. He understood all too well why the more-than-cold morning welcome: he knew he had done a stupid thing last night and betrayed the only person he swore to protect.

He made a feeble attempt to get past the girl, but Fleur roughly grabbed his shoulder and turned him back to her with an incredible force, fuming with anger. He swallowed heavily and lowered his glance again, but her hand forced his chin upwards.

"Isn't there anything you wish to say to me?" she hissed in a venomous voice. He collected all courage he could muster and looked intently into those gorgeous eyes that were shooting frozen daggers at him now, only slightly above absolute zero.

"I'm ashamed of myself, Fleur."

"And you should be indeed, my dear," Fleur retorted in the same icy voice, still standing dangerously close to him, and the boy backed one step away when he felt that familiar breeze starting to form around her.

He swallowed again and braced for the worst: a fireball, a slap across his face or a nasty hex of some kind, but none came. She just stood there, unmoving, a few genuine teardrops collecting in the corner of her eyes but it stung Harry more than as if she were shouting at him or hexing him into next January.

"I'm really sorry for abandoning you when I just swore to protect you. I guess it's easier to protect you from everything and everyone but myself."

"Harry, you didn't hurt me that much by abandoning me, rather by trying to decide what would be the best for me without asking me first. I thought you being you would have already taught you that it would never work. I may be a woman, a pretty face, but I'm also an independent, adult person and I will never allow anyone to command me because someone knows better what would be the best for me. It was a no-go area for Bill, and it most certainly is and will be for you, my dear." An unhealthy, purple flush appeared on her cheeks as she became more and more agitated, but her anger started to subside as she gradually vented away her frustration at the young wizard.

"I could have, might have agreed that you were leaving because you're fed up with me, because I'm making your life a living hell, or because you hate this place here in the middle of fucking nowhere, Harry; all these would have been valid arguments. Yet, I would have tried to make things more bearable in the first place, and give up on you, on us only when I was completely sure I had failed."

Harry was just about to interject, but Fleur's harsh voice caused him to snap shut immediately. "Shut the fuck up, I'm not done with you yet."

Holding a brief pause, she composed herself – giving hereby Harry the chance to do the same, and continued in a slightly softer voice. "The worst thing is, _mon cher_, that you did yourself more harm last night than you did to me, although, I do not deny, I would have never expected that from you."

Sharply turning away from him, she wiped her eyes, then started rummaging in the cupboard with just slightly more noise than necessary.

"How's your head?" she asked, not even turning around. Harry, stil standing on the same spot, reached up with his hand, feeling the spot where he had hit it last night against that piece of wood. It bothered him no more and the wound was gone; he reckoned Fleur must have healed it and his face flushed with a genuine feeling of shame. Slowly walking up to the girl who still feigned being busy by sorting and arranging tableware from one shelf to another and then back, he gently lay his hand on her shoulder.

He felt Fleur freeze under his touch and her hands stopped their dance on the shelf for a moment. Then, she abruptly turned around, their faces separated by mere inches. "Don't ever do that to me again, hear?" she hissed in a venomous voice and, without even expecting an answer, left the dumbfounded boy alone with his thoughts.

"I need to get out of this dumbfuck place, if only for a few hours," Fleur took a delighted, long sip of her milk. "It feels here as if I couldn't breathe, as if I were being strangled. I want to go down to the village to the Thursday market; you may come with me or stay here if you want to."

"I won't let you go anywhere alone, Fleur," Harry said simply, and the girl's eyes started dangerously narrowing again. "If my memory serves me well, I've just told you what I'm thinking about things being decided for me. Haven't you heard me or you just simply needed a better translation than I had provided?"

Now, it was Harry's turn to count to ten, while he pressed his lips firmly together. "I have listened you out and understood perfectly what you'd said. Now you listen to me carefully, Fleur. With you not being my mother, my professor or my drilling sergeant, I don't think I should be asking for your permission every time I need to wipe my arse. If you don't want to see my ugly face, fine, I will Disillusion myself, but I'm not going to let you go alone Merlin knows where. No, Missus, it's not going to happen."

The girl, for a moment, was perplexed. Harry's unexpectedly harsh tone surprised her so much that she forgot about the glass she was holding, from which the milk was still dripping onto her neck and into her cleavage. Harry automatically jumped up and grabbed a towel, hesitating whether he should wipe the droplets of milk off her or let her do that; finally common sense won and he silently handed it over to the young witch. Following her hand with his eyes, he gulped heavily when the towel disappeared in her cleavage, but, when she, feeling his piercing gaze on her skin looked up and her eyes met his, he promptly turned away his head.

Feigning embarrassment, Fleur adjusted her dress – not that it meant anything as the cleavage was deep enough – but in her eyes there was an ironic twinkle as she very well saw the boy's purple ears. "Had you really left last night, you would have missed quite a few of these little shows as I seem to be rather clumsy recently. Would you have missed them, my Harry?"

"Shut up, you teasing wench," Harry muttered halfheartedly under his nose. "Of course I would have missed you, and 'these little shows' would have been the least important reason."

"Oh yes?" Fleur's eyes lit up again. "And care to elaborate what would have been the most important one?"

"Who could I show off to with my highly advanced Transfiguration charms so that I could force-feed her with croissants otherwise?"

Fleur exagerratedly rolled her eyes, but her initial anger evaporated away, leaving only a hint of bitterness and a touch of panic at the very depths of her soul. _I didn't want him to leave. I need him. I can't live on without him._

"Did you see the bite marks on your leg, Harry?" She abruptly change the theme of the conversation and Harry's built-in senses gave off an alarm. The expression on his face might not have been too intellectual, as Fleur felt the need to elaborate further.

"Last night I heard howling and something was scratching on the door. I took a peek outside, with my wand at ready. There was a huge grey wolf in front of the door that seemed to be calling me outside. I can't explain it better; it was as if he wanted me to follow him, for the lack of a better word. He lead me to you; you were lying, unconscious, a few yards away from the house. From what I saw – and from the bite marks on your leg - I understood that the wolf had dragged you here from the place we had our little conversation last night."

She held a brief pause, waiting for Harry's reaction. His face, at first, turned a vivid shade of red, then abruptly went pale. Fleur emitted a short laugh. "Yes, Harry, I had to undress you in order to heal your leg and no, I was behaving myself, and even your manhood is where it belongs and not in the middle of your forehead, even if I was - and still am - angry and hurt."

"Can you forgive me, Fleur?" Harry's pleading voice was so broken, that the girl could only guess what he was trying to say. She shook her gorgeous head in disbelief, rolling her eyes. "Of course I can forgive you, you thick-headed, daft, stupid mountain troll! It was partly my mistake too; I was too busy feeling down and miserable and depressed that I had no eyes for your tragedies and you were too busy trying to pull me out of the swamp I was sinking into instead of trying to come to terms with your own losses. Come here, you... you Gryffindor!" She expectantly held out her arms and Harry more than happily answered her hug, pressing her ample curves tight against himself.

Their tear-stained cheeks touched and Harry shivered ever so lightly, feeling Fleur's breath tickling his skin. "Look at ourselves," she whispered, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck, "two idiots quarreling as a married couple already."

"I guess I have to thank our furry friend that he prevented me from making the biggest mistake of my life," Harry laughed bitterly, inhaling her sweet scent of grass and spring flowers and closing his eyes in delight for a brief moment. "Now, this one, I would have missed a lot, even if this is just a friendly gesture."

He felt her arms tighten around his neck as she nodded her accordance. Suddenly he felt wetness running down his skin and he understood it was her tears again. She was crying too often, in his opinion, and – while most of her misery wasn't his fault – these tears lay on his chest as a heavy burden.

His thumbs gently wiped away the genuine pearls – her huge teardrops - and a brisk smile brightened up her aristocratic face. His fingers, as if by themselves, got lost in her silvery blond hair, so soft and silky, and Fleur emitted a contented sigh. "Every time I would go home for the school holidays, I would visit the hairdresser's shop in the village near our home, first thing in the morning. I would always ask the shopkeeper, an elderly Muggle lady, to wash my hair and massage my scalp. Then she would brush my hair, slowly, gently, with a soft brush in her thin hand marked by age. In half an hour, all my tiredness, all my frustrations were gone and I felt as if I were reborn. You playing with my hair, Harry, feels good just the same."

"You've got beautiful hair, Fleur," Harry nodded simply. "However, if we want to get to the village while your market is still open, I'm afraid I will have to postpone brushing your gorgeous locks until a later, more suitable time." He needed to break the situation, however gently, as he felt his body react rather vehemently to her soft, curvy presence and didn't want to embarrass himself – or her, just the same - by his raging hormones.

"Party-crasher!" the young witch gently poked him in his ribs and slowly, unwillingly, disentangled from the hug. Her eyes, however, twinkled happily now as she machinally arranged her simple, short-sleeved summer dress, getting rid of a non-existing crinkle in front of the young man's eyes.

"Basket, wallet, wands," Harry flexed his fingers, while summoning the items one by one, handing over Fleur's wand to her and pocketing his new wand, Gabrielle's inheritance. "I think we are set to go. Lead the way, Mrs. Popescu."

"Who? I can't really recall that name," Fleur shook her gorgeous head in disbelief. Harry couldn't help but giggle at the rather comic sight of the young woman staring at him with huge sauce eyesr, her mouth slightly agape. "You remember what the Queen said when we first visited her? About the charm that conceals the village and its inhabitors?"

Fleur briefly frowned in concentration. "That one, I do remember, yes," she finally answered, not clearly understanding where Harry was going with this. Her confusion, however, didn't last long, as Harry elaborated further.

"When you were at the hospital, one of the Healers addressed me as Mr. Popescu, and you as my wife. I almost blew our covers, but luckily I bit my tongue off before doing so. Then I understood it must have been the effect of that Concealment charm, so I didn't give it a serious thought after that."

"Right," Fleur's eyes twinkled with a playful glow. "So, my ever-so-handsome _husband..." _She didn't get to continue her sentence, as Harry, rather abruptly cut into her thought. "That's only a farçe, Fleur, that may very well save our lives; please don't think too much into it. Come on, don't make me explain myself to the detail, you know darn well what I mean."

Fleur only teasingly smiled at the young wizard. "Why, Harry? Does the perspective of me being your wife for a few hours disgust you that much?"

"Whoa... no... yes... Wait a sec, Fleur!" Harry groaned inwardly, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "Come on, lady, give me a break if you don't want me to sink through the floor. Of course it doesn't disgust me, not at all, it's just I can't force my tongue to address you like that when you... when you..." He abruptly broke his sentence, desperately trying to avoid Bill's name, but the young Veela understood him even without words.

"Don't worry, I completely got you. I happen to realize that you just wanted to spare me from another round of crying about Bill. And, of course you being yourself, a perfect gentleman, already understood that it's not like I'm proposing to you to consummate our _marriage_ any time soon," she laughed throatily, but with a hint of bitterness and pain that still made her otherwise ringing voice sound dull and void.

Upon catching the hidden implication in her last sentence, Harry did wish to sink through the simple wooden floor of the small cabin. After short hesitation, however, he looked straight into the beautiful young women's eyes. "Then you must have already realized as well that under other circumstances I would most probably have nothing against me being your husband and acting as such, in every which way, _sans question_. Can we drop the discussion now, please?" Suddenly flushing red, he stopped his mouth with his hand. "Fuck, I can't believe I've just said that."

Slightly inclining her head, the witch merrily cackled, but something stirred deep inside her. "Well, it's nice to know that you care. So, _Ioan,_" she abruptly switched over to his other, mock identity with a broad smile on her face, "I think we should _really_ leave now in case we want to make it back before dark."


	26. Chapter 26

For centuries, millennia, people had been afraid of mountains. Most of them saw them as an obstacle on their way that needed to be conquered so that they could continue their way in whatever aim they were pursuing in their restless quest. Another group – mostly scholars, philosophers – hated these soundless giants as even the bare sight of them reminded them of their own miserable, finitesimal existence, while the mountains stood proudly for millions of years, unchanged, and will stand long after humanity ceases to exist.

Sometimes, the mountains had enough of these two-legged bugs that dared to desecrate them, cut narrow, dark paths and tunnels through their body so that their could steal their treasures. Then, they simply straightened their backs or shook their shoulders, throwing down their clothes or opened up their mouths, spitting fire at the invaders. The humans then fled, trying to save their miserable lives, only to return when danger was gone and the mountains went back to sleep.

Finally, there was a third, small group of people that craved escape from this world and made the mountains their own habitat, peacefully coexisting with them. They built castles, houses on their slopes, still treating the mountains with due, almost religious respect and those, with their endless forests, fed and protected these hermits in exchange.

Comfortably holding hands, the two youngsters, two of these modern hermits, strolled down the narrow, curvy path across the ancient pine forest that covered the vast majority of the Bistriţa hills. The majestic trees, proud and straight, seemed to reach the skies, supporting it on their shoulders; the giant Atlas of ancient tales coming alive. The ground under their feet was covered with a thick layer of needles that seemed to have accumulated for centuries in a row, now resembling a thick Persian rug they every now and then sank ankle-deep.

Sunlight reached the floor of the forest only where it could wring his way through the thick crowns of trees, amid the myriads of branches, creating an almost otherworldly experience for the casual wanderer as the brisk rays of light lit a few spots before their feet, leaving everything else in almost complete darkness.

Neither spoke as they walked in a steady tempo towards the circumference of the complex system of wards that was hiding the Veela colony from the prying eye, the village of Ciobotaru, bearing the name of the mountain itself housing the colony. After fifteen minutes, Harry broke the eternalk silence of the forest, abruptly stopping and seriously looking into Fleur's eyes.

"Are you sure you're good to walk that much in a row? You've been quite ill and I'm still worried about you, you know."

"I'm slightly out of practice and I've got a slight headache, but otherwise I'm all right, I guess. Physically, that is, but anyway, thanks for asking." Fleur took a few deep, even breaths. "It's not that we have to walk all the way to the village; if I'm not mistaken, that rock over there is the ward stone and from there we can Apparate."

Harry slightly drew up his brows, musing over his companion's rather drastically changed attitude. Where she resembled an old, broken woman, tired of life only a few days back, now she started to remind him of her old self. Her previous energy, that old fire that used to drive her, now seemed to gradually return to her – although slightly abated, yet clearly present in her again. And, for Harry, it was a very welcome change.

"Well, if you are _quite _sure..." he continued his train of thoughts half-aloud, but Fleur heard him very well nevertheless. "I'm _completely_ sure, but if I do get tired and can't move my legs any more, you'll get the honours to carry me back to our new home in your strong arms, my prince."

Her sentence turned out just the slightest bit equivocal and, while Harry blushed slightly realizing the real meaning her words would possibly have in another world, another time, deep below he wanted to dance. She was joking again and, while she was still grieving about her losses, she was quite obviously on the mend.

"Peanuts. It's only a mile," he made a shooing gesture with his hand, deciding to play along. "And, if I do get tired dragging your fat bottom around, I can always Petrify you and levitate you home."

Fleur's ringing laughter echoed far away in the woods and she took a pose that wouldn't have misstood on the cover of any of those glossy, fancy fashion magazines, allowing the boy a somewhat better view at the well-developed, but absolutely not exagerrated roundings of above mentioned body part.

"I'm afraid that for your daring to call my shapely bum a "fat bottom" I will have to make my threats towards you come true then, at least the one about turning you into a rhinoceros."

"Why are you _that obsessed_ about my manhood, Fleur?" Harry bluntly winked at the young witch, his teasing question leaving her completely speechless. She opened her mouth a few times, soundlessly gaping for air, before she could regain her ability to speak. "Pardon me?" she asked in just a tad bit too sharp voice. "What on Merlin's saggy pants could possibly make you think that I'm interested in your … dick?"

"Well, it's turning out to be your favourite object to be destroyed when it comes down to being dissatisfied with something I've said or done. Were you absolutely neutral to Mr. Richard here, you wouldn't be threatening him that frequently."

The small fireball hissed towards him, leaving a sparkling trail in the air, with such a speed that he barely managed to throw up a non-verbal shield just strong enough to counter the spell and dissolve Fleur's projectile.

"Harry, you idiot," the clearly annoyed Veela muttered under her nose, angrily shaking her gorgeous head. "I will have you know that I'm NOT interested in your … appendix, not now, not ever in the foreseeable future." Suddenly closing her mouth before she could blurt out anything she would be feeling sorry about later, she finished her thought in her head. "_And even if I were interested about it, I wouldn't admit it to you or even myself. Never."_

"A typical case of 'ignorance is bliss", huh?_"_ Harry wasn't so tactful about wording his thoughts.

Fleur surprisedly stopped her mouth with her hand. "I could have known. Get out of my head, you bloody _Legilimens_!"

"You were projecting your thoughts so powerfully that one didn't have to be a _Legilimens_ to get your ideas. All right, all right," Harry raised his right hand in a peace-offering gesture, when he saw that the fuming girl was flushing beetroot red. "I promise I won't ever say a bad word again about your buttocks, which are, by the way, really nice," he finished, boldly, but gently slapping her bum, eliciting a small squeak from the girl.

She poked out her tongue at him in a mock hurt grimace, then turned away from him as she – from the inside – was literally choking with laughter. "Let's go," she barked out, reaching for his hand and they set off again, but not before she gave him another murderous glare and his fingers a painful squeeze.

Stepping over the ward stone, the two briefly stopped, waiting for the brief disturbance in their core caused by passing through the wards to subside. "Shall we?" Fleur looked expectantly in his eyes, taking a steadying breath. Instead of answering, Harry raised her knuckles to his lips. "For luck."

This time, in broad daylight, Harry was able to follow her special way of apparition with his own eyes. As soon as she, concentrating, closed her crystal blue eyes, her contours started to fade away until they dissolved in the air and, through the touch of their hands, the process continued on him. Raising his left hand in front of his eyes, he intently watched as it turned opaque, then disappeared. The whole process took two, maybe three seconds, then his vision turned blurred, but before he could ask himself what was happening they already rematerialized behind some bushes.

"Wow! Beam me up, Scotty!" Harry laughed at his own joke, Fleur joining him almost immediately. "Pretty much Star Trek, huh?"

"First thing I ever saw on TV," Harry elaborated. "When Dud turned eight, his parents took him to some party Aunt Marge had organized for him and they slept over at her place. I sneaked into the living room and switched on the telly and snatched a box of Ben & Jerry's, Dud's favourite Triple Chocolate flavour from the fridge. That was the happiest day of my life, with two firsts in one day. The happiest day of my life _before_ Hogwarts, that is."

"And _during_ Hogwarts?"

"End of second year when Hermione woke up from being Petrified. Sixth year when I finally asked Ginny out. Our first kiss, our first night," the young wizard answered without hesitation. Apologetically looking at his companion, he sighed heavily. "Your and Bill's wedding. I was so happy for you guys. I watched that beautiful, beaming pair and dreamed to be standing before that altar in a black tuxedo with Ginny wearing that fancy white wedding dress you had picked out for her in Paris on my side."

The girl loudly sniffed a few times and Harry feverishly grabbed her hand, seeking forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, dear Fleur, I didn't want to tear up your scars again..."

"Don't get your underwear in a twist, Harry. You did nothing wrong with reminding me of him; not that I would ever forget my Bill, our wedding, our short-lived happiness anyway." She rested her hand on his shoulder lightly for a moment, then hooked her arm into his, directing him out of the bushes, towards the noise both had already noticed.

"Let me see," she smiled briskly. "We will need some fresh fish, sugar, flour, butter, a bottle or two of red wine – I want to treat you to some real _coq au vin – _and I want to buy some dingbats for home. Got your basket yet?"

Harry cast her a glance full disbelief. "Are you sure you'll be able to get all this here, in the middle of nowhere? You heard this Mihai and his stories how hard life here really is."

"Well," Fleur scratched the tip of her nose with a playful spark in her eyes. "I guess that being a wizard has sometimes its perks. For example, when importing goods from abroad. There is this thing called 'international Floo connection', you know, which I'm sure the locals are using extensively that may not even be monitored by their Department of Magical Transportation. Besides, some of them can Apparate, and some are even able to create international Portkeys, what with the closest free country, Hungary, being a few hundred mile away at most can come in quite handy..." Slightly cocking her head, she waited for Harry's reaction on her somewhat ironic remark. "Honestly, Harry," she scoffed at his naivety, "did you really think all that food we have been eating since we're here, that small, but modern bathroom we have been using had been produced in our village? You can conjur only so many things and food is certainly not among those items."

"All right, all right," Harry admissively raised his hands. "I know I'm a hopeless Muggle."

Fleur burst out in infectious, ringing laughter and the young wizard couldn't help but join her. "Non, mon cher, you are a hopeless idealist and you forget that I've already been here a few times, so I have all first-hand information, that's all."

"Whatever, Mata Hari, let's move our arses. I'm getting hungry."

"Talking about being obsessed with certain body-parts..." Fleur snorted, absently investigating the bright blue sky above them, then abruptly stopped by one of the merchants.

The elderly woman sat on a battered, three-legged stool. In front of her, on a makeshift table, lay a few blouses, handmade from thin, crisp white canvas, richly embroidered – also handicrafted – with colourful, flowery local ornaments. Even Fleur, the aristocratic young woman gasped admiringly and it didn't skip Harry's attention.

"Do you like it?" he asked, seeing the fire in her eyes.

"Oh yes, pretty much," she answered in a voice full of enthusiasm. "May I try one on?" she inquired from the merchant. At first, Harry was sure that the woman wouldn't understand her as he heard the question spoken in English, but then he reminded himself of the Concealment charm protecting the members of the Veela colony that included a Translation Charm as well.

Obtaining from the saleswoman a wide, toothless smile and an approving nod in answer, Fleur briefly hesitated before picking a blouse. Disappearing behind a tree, she cast a Privacy charm, quickly got rid of her simple dress – Harry saw the cloth slide down her sleek body on the grass – and put the blouse on. "Ioan!" she called out for him.

Harry, desperately trying to keep his glance above belt level, cast an admiring look at her. The simple blouse stood her as if it were tailor-made for her, enhancing her figure on the necessary places. She slowly turned around in front of him, earning an audible groan from the somewhat embarrassed young wizard.

"Mister, I was asking about the blouse," Fleur cackled, slightly enjoying the situation.

Shaking his head, Harry gave a good look to the mentioned clothing item. "I'm really doing my best but it's not that easy to look past those gorgeous body-parts one can get so easily obsessed with, and you're not helping here," he muttered half-heartedly. "I like what I see. I would buy it for you if I had money on me."

"Well, you do have money on you, if I'm not mistaken," Fleur intently looked into his eyes.

"_Your_ money, coming from _your _Gringotts account." A feather-light hand briefly caressed his pale face. "Harry, it's not _mine_, it's _ours_ now. Everything I own is yours as well."

"Quite one-sided deal, if you ask me, seeing that I don't own anything that would be really mine, so I can't bring anything into the common bucket," Harry grimaced.

Fleur annoyedly huffed at his antics. "Listen to me, you Gryffindork. There was 'you' and 'me' in the past, but it's gone now. There's only 'us' now, like it or not, so try to live with it. So, do you like the blouse or not?"

"Of course I like it!" Harry exclaimed, maybe just a tad bit too enthusiastic.

"Good, now look into my eye." For a moment, it seemed as if her intent gaze pierced through him, then she nodded approvingly. "Yeah, I like me as well in that."

"What did you just do?"

"My Dad was in the Council of Legilimens," she explained briefly. "He taught me a few bits and pieces. I just watched me through your eyes, not the hardest thing to learn."

Harry flinched at remembering his dreaded Occlumency lessons with the Greasy Bat. "Did you also read my mind?" Then, he realized what kind of thoughts were _really _engaging his mind the past few minutes, and got outwardly scared.

Fleur warmly smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. "I would never do that, Harry. I would ask for your permission beforehand. Besides, performing unsolicited Legilimency is a punishable offense and I don't want to be banished onto the couch for the coming week." She laughed again, her laughter ringing like genuine pearls dropped into a crystal decanter.

She cast a lopsided look at herself, checking out the blouse for one last time. "So, done deal. Help it off me, please and then you can buy it for me." She expectantly raised her hands above her head and Harry, gently pulling at the hem of the blouse, peeled it off her, trying to avoid skin contact and firmly closing his eyes when the cloth of her bra appeared from underneath the blouse.

"There it is, can you just hold it for a sec," he nodded, satisfied that his torture was mostly over, and handed the blouse over to Fleur, then picked up her dress from the ground what again involved some close eye contact with her shapely, trained, long legs. Exchanging the dress for the blouse, he trodded away, back to the merchant, who – he suspected – should have been worrying by now about her goods.

Fleur slowly put on her flowery dress, silently chewing over a few things. _I did lie to you, my dear Harry. I did read your mind, or rather, caught a glimpse of your thoughts. I know, I feel you like me as a woman and it immensely pleases me. I like you too, but neither of us is ready yet and won't be for quite a long time._

Arranging her hear in impeccable waves, Fleur cancelled the privacy charm and emerged from behind the tree, only to see Harry returning to her with a neat package in his hand. Placing his purchase into the basket lying on the ground before Fleur's feet, he picked it up and offered his arm to the young witch. "_Mademoiselle?_"

"_Oui, Monsieur_?" The Veela gladly accepted the arm, softly pecking Harry's cheek. "Thank you for the nice present." There was not a trace of irony in her voice, only honest gratefulness.

"You are very welcome, Fleur," Harry smiled at his beautiful friend and they set off again, waving their goodbye to the elderly woman. Aimlessly wandering around the marketplace, arms comfortably hooked together, they stopped every now and then by a merchant to check out his goods. All this time, Harry was mumbling a song under his nose. After the first stanza Fleur recognized the song as well.

_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_Remember me to one who lives there_

_He once was a true love of mine_

_Tell him to make me a cambric shirt_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_Without no seams nor needle work_

_Then he'll be a true love of mine_

"How very fitting for the occasion, your little performance," she smiled warmly, drawing closer to the boy. "Here we, are in a fair, although as far from Scarborough as possible, and you just bought me a shirt."

Harry went beetroot red and clapped his mouth shut in embarrassment. "No need for that, my dear," Fleur gently chastised him. "I love this song and I really enjoyed you singing. Come on, do pretty little me a favour!"

Exagerratedly rolling his eyes, Harry obeyed her nagging and continued with the song.

_Tell him to find me an acre of land_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_Between the salt water and the sea strands_

_Then he'll be a true love of mine_

_Tell him to reap it with a sickle of leather_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme_

_And gather it all in a bunch of heather_

_Then he'll be a true love of mine_

"I can't remember the words further," he apologetically shook his head, but Fleur cut through his sentence. "Never mind, _mon cher_, you just gave me the daily charge of positive emotions I needed. I will be good for a few days before I start getting on your nerves again."

Theatrically sniffing into the air, she abruptly changed their direction. "Fish!" she exclaimed happily. "There's our fancy, candle-light dinner!"


	27. Chapter 27

June was well on its way. Even so high in the hills, the days were considerably warmer and longer than at the time the two fugitives had arrived, barely a month ago.

Under the protective shadows of the Lebanese cedars in the Veela cemetery, where even the birds sang a tone lower in order not to disturb those sleeping their eternal sleep here, the three new headstones were as clean as a few weeks ago when they were erected. Not a single particle of dirt or moss stained the glossy, polished surface of the white marble; Harry made sure the Impervious Charm was properly applied to all three of them. Discarding the faded roses from the three graves, he gently arranged the fresh flowers he had brought: a wreath of forget-me-nots for Gabrielle, Fleur's daughter, a red rose for Ginny, another one for Bill, and with particular gentleness – so that not to damage the fragile marble-white petals – a white lily, Hermione's favourite.

Of all tragedies, it was Ginny and Hermione's death that struck him the most. There will be no more tender kisses, no more 'I love you-s', no plans for their common future with Ginny; no more new adventures, endless study sessions, no bickering about an odd Potions book with the beautiful brunette. Two flowers torn off and discarded in their early blossom, well before their petals opened up, allowing the world to see them in their full beauty.

Emitting a deep sigh, Harry caressed the headstones one last time, his fingers following the golden letters of the inscription he had made himself in his rather messy handwriting.

"Pity, ain't it?"

Upon recognizing old Radu's deep bass, Harry didn't move, only nodded silently. The Elder sank on his rheumatic knees and crossed himself the Orthodox way thrice. Muttering a silent prayer, he expectantly looked at the youngster. "You loved her." It was no question, rather a statement.

Harry met the old man's gaze. "I did, with all of my heart. We were planning to get married after she had graduated."

"The youth of today. Live fast, die even faster." The Elder slowly shook his head.

"Wasn't her choice to suffocate in that dark tunnel while I was holding her in my arms, Papa Radu!" Harry snapped at the old man. He immediately wanted apologize for the harsh tone, but the Elder understandingly smiled at him. "We are all in God's hands. Maybe, her death had a reason."

Now Harry lost it. Jumping on his feet, he started irritatedly pacing around, his steps stirring up the nocturnal peace of the small cemetery. "Please, don't feed me this crap, Papa Radu! Were your God so true and merciful, why did he take all the good people away? Why does he let that madman reign over England and commit all those crimes? Four hundred children against vampires, werewolves, adult wizards, the youngest of them not even twelve. When I found her, her head was twisted around; she lay on her stomach but her glassy eyes reflected the stars. Why does your God allow all these horrors?"

"In '44," taking a deep breath, Radu spoke up, "the King arrested Antonescu, our president that collaborated with the Germans, and announced war against the Nazis. Given, our liberation war was far from being so cruel than in Russia, but we saw our horrors here as well. My younger brother – barely thirteen at that point – joined a partisan group. They were hiding not far from here, on that hill behind Bistriţa. When they caught them, the Germans publicly executed them, my brother first, forcing the whole village to watch. Then, they executed all males, but not before they had their fun with the women and children. 'To set an example', they laughed." The Elder intently watched the boy's face turn ashen. "See, we had our reasons for asking ourselves the same question you'd just asked. Everything that happens in the world happens with a reason, even if this reason is in most of the cases far from obvious."

Harry forced back the bile rising in his throat. Luckily, Radu spared him most of the details. The Elder heavily stood, thankfully accepting the young wizard's proffered hand – Harry involuntarily hissed when the weathered from more than a half century of hard work, but still strong hand clasped around his. Putting his hand around Harry's shoulder, Radu marvelled at the marble headstones for a while.

"Maybe, the sacrifice of your friends wasn't in vain, my boy," he continued after a short pause, clearing his throat. "Maybe, your Dark Lord was meant to bestove power in order that an opposition could be formed against him, a really strong opposition that once would be able to rid the world of that infection."

"Papa Radu, there's no one left!" Harry cried out in desperation. "Those who could wield a wand and fought at Hogwarts are properly dead and buried and those who didn't want to join the fight and fled can't represent such a significant power to oppose him."

"How can you know?" The short question left him somewhat by surprise. While seemingly naïve, it wasn't an easy question to answer. "Are there no more trained wizards in England that would be willing to fight?"

"Papa Radu, those who _were_ willing to fight, fought and died, those who weren't, fled."

"Or went underground," Radu continued his train of thoughts. "Sometimes, it's wiser to avoid a battle while you can and fight back when your enemy would expect it the least. World War II partisans never confronted the enemy openly. They raided German convoys, killed a few soldiers, blew up a few tanks and disappeared in the woods again, driving the Germans into madness. Look, by the time the Allied forces entered Yugoslavia, the Germans were already retreating. You must surely have read it in your history books."

Harry leaned down and gently kissed Ginny's photo on the headstone. His face an expressionless mask now, he sought eye-contact with the Elder. "It's still not fair that she had to go, so young, so beautiful, so full of energy."

"Look, son, nothing in life is fair. Sometimes wars are won, sometimes lost. You and the Comtesa are still alive, even if the burden of a survivor is much harder to bear than the burden of death. I know you loved your Ginny, I know you had a spot in your heart for your friend Hermione, but I do believe they are at peace now and in another time you will be happy together." Harry wiped away his abundantly flowing tears and nodded his thanks to the old man.

"Remember your love, your friends, son, but live your life. It's too precious a gift to simply throw away, especially when still there's a chance for happiness."

Harry just stood there, silently musing over the Elder's words, long after the old man was gone, giving a last, friendly clap on his shoulder.

The half dozen young men stood in a clearing amidst the pine forest. By the sight of it, one had recently been busy cutting wood here; a few dozen ten-to-fifteen yard long trunks, neatly cleaned from their branches, lay somewhat aside in a giant heap, while the branches themselves, cut into firewood-size chunks, were neatly piled up.

Harry – for he was among the youngsters – silently wondered how they managed to move those trunks, what with lacking suitable, heavy machinery but then he remembered. Most of the men here were still wizards capable of wielding a wand, at least to a certain level, and performing a Levitating charm didn't belong to the most complex ones.

Radu introduced Harry to the others, although at a certain point he had seen – or even briefly spoken to – all of them. One of the young men, Mircea, reminded him of a blond copy of Ron very much; blunt and straightforward, yet with a golden heart, always joking, always smiling. Another one, towering above Harry by a good six-seven inches, broad-shouldered, was Radu Jr, the grandson of the Elder. Casting a derogatory glance at the thin, bespectacled boy, he gave him a firm handshake and a very Draco-ish, ironic smirk that made Harry immediately wish to punch him in the face.

The Old Shepherd was a hilltop neighbouring the Ciobotaru, the hill hosting the Veela colony. Behind the Old Shepherd ran the main road through the heart of Transylvania and the Queen thought her village would profit from a better connection to the outside world. The wooden bridge they wanted to build would be about three hundred yards long – in these conditions a remarkable piece of engineering, but based on physical strength only an almost impossible task to fulfill.

The small team had to fell some more trees that would be then cut into planks, from which the main structure of the bridge would be erected. Harry picked an axe from the ground, spat into his palm and paired up with Mircea, picking an impeccable den tree already bearing Radu's chalk mark as their first victim of the day.

After the first gawky movements with the heavy axe, narrated by Radu Jr's ironic remarks, Harry found the correct rhythm and the majestic tree soon fell, succumbing to the joint efforts of the two young men. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry sadly watched the tree that had seen at least five-six turbulent decades, now lying on the ground, then, picking up his axe again, went on removing the branches. Hard physical work brought him satisfaction; with each smash of the axe he imagined another Death Eater's head being severed by the shiny blade, another of his fallen comrades being revenged.

Two hours, maybe three later – Harry lost the track of time – the youngsters threw down their axes and sat in a small circle to catch their breaths and have a cold drink. From the corner of his eye Harry saw Radu Jr. reach into his pocket and unwillingly hand over something to Luca, the latter pocketing it with visible satisfaction. Answering his questioning glance, Radu made a wry grimace.

"I bet twenty lei that you wouldn't last longer than half an hour. I lost, so it seems, but we'll see which song you'll sing at sunset."

"You wish," Harry muttered under his nose, exchanging a rapid glance with Luca. Mircea clapped Radu's shoulder, offering him a cigarette. "Leave the boy alone, Radu, let him be. He'd had enough on his plate already."

"If he proves himself a man, I will leave him alone," barked Radu, standing up and stretching his leg. Harry raised his bottle to a toast, then took a healthy swig, enjoying the pleasant, refreshing coolness of the water with his eyes closed. Picking up his axe, he saluted with it to the Elder's grandson, following Mircea towards the next tree.

His muscles started to ache but he couldn't afford himself to show weakness before the others. Charming the axe with a Featherlight charm was no option either as it would have lost its momentum as well, rendering it completely useless, so he just ground his teeth together and went on, silently, without complaints.

During lunch, when the small team sat together again to eat their sandwiches, Harry slowly opened his aching palms, carefully examining the nasty blares that by now were torn open and oozing blood. Muttering a few uncensored words, he summoned his wand and healed his palms, then probingly flexed his hands a few times. Radu's smirk didn't interest him for one bit; growing up doing hard physical work, the locals had a huge advantage on him and it wasn't as if he was cutting wood with his wand, he was only eliminating the obstacles that were preventing him to keep up with them.

Ever since he'd entered Hogwarts and learned to use his wand, it became an inseparable part, a third arm for him and he couldn't really understand why the locals – mostly capable of using a wand on one or another level – still preferred the Muggle way of living their everyday lives and doing everyday chores. He didn't fail to mention it to the youngsters and Mircea was ready with his answer.

"Imagine, Harry, that you marry the ugliest woman in the whole country. So ugly that you have to switch off the light before nearing her closer than five steps. Using your wand, you can charm her beautiful, but will it make you happy with her?"

"Happiness doesn't always lie in beauty, Mircea," Harry objected with an irritated gesture. "I had a very close friend back in England. She was slightly cross-eyed, always dressed in some inexplicably weird clothes, constantly spoke nonsense of non-existing mythical creatures. Even in all her weirdness she had an aura that made you instantly like her and she was the fierce, loyal type of friend 99 per cent of us could only dream of. Had I not met Ginny and fallen in love with her, I could have imagined Luna and myself end up together and live happily ever after."

"All right, maybe it wasn't the best example, Harry," Mircea took a healthy bite of his chicken leg. "Imagine then that you can Accio a million lei from the bank. Will that money make you happy? I could do that, and it would satisfy my needs until the end of my days, but I would be happier with all that money if I had earned it with honest work. That's the way how it goes here, Harry. We don't grab our wands if we need to chunk up a carrot or peel a potato, if you get what I'm trying to say."

Hands akimbo, Harry attentively listened to the young man's argumentation and he had to admit that those words had a fair share of truth in them. Yet, he couldn't agree a hundred percent with all that had been said. "Okay, peeling a potato or chunking up a carrot is something even a six-year old can do; you don't need to be an of age wizard to do that. But why not make your life easier when you can?"

"Why?" Radu Jr stood and walked up to the sitting Harry, threateningly towering over him. "Let me tell you why, you pampered 'Mummy's precious boy'," he mocked the young wizard. "We have been living our lives like this for hundreds of years and no smart-ass will dictate us how to live it further, got that?"

Harry swiftly jumped up and straightened himself, his eyes casting daggers at the other. "You call me a "pampered boy", you brat? The Mummy and Daddy that could have pampered me were slaughtered by a madman when I was barely one, because they had refused to step aside and let that idiot kill me because of some fucking prophecy that had been made before I was born. I saw them die by the Killing Curse and this has been haunting me ever since every night. My so-called family that had taken me in forced me to live the next ten years in a cupboard under the stairs, feeding me leftovers and clothing me into oversized rags that my cousin Dudley already wore off. So, pampered as I might be, the next time you take the name of my parents onto your filthy mouth, I'll fucking curse you to Bucharest." He hissed the last words barely above a whisper, but the wand in his pocket shot a few warning sparks and the bigger and much stronger boy found it a wise idea to back off a step.

The other youngsters – wisely – didn't pick sides in the less-than-friendly word exchange, but two of them led the fuming Radu away from Harry, casting an apologetic glance at the bespectacled boy. Saying a few agitated words in rapid Romanian Harry couldn't catch, even with the Translation Charm in effect, they left the grandson of the Elder alone, picking up their axes and making their way towards the edge of the small clearance to find their next victim among the majestic trees.

A short while later, Radu cursed out loud, summoned his axe and followed their example. With strong, rhythmical movements he attacked another tree. Wood splinters were flying around him, but he didn't care even when one of the splinters hit his face, tearing a wound on his left cheek and barely missing his eye.

When Harry heard the eerie, screeching sound, he instinctively knew something was wrong. He watched as if in slow motion as the trunk split vertically into two halves, one of them slowly falling towards Radu. His wand jumped into his hand – afterward, he could have sworn he hadn't even thought the word '_Accio_' – and, pointing towards the trunk, uttered "_Arresto Momentum_". The movement of the trunk stopped; to the outsider it might have seemed that it was suspended in mid-air, hanging on invisible ropes. Only now did the others start to realize danger and shouted at Radu to get the hell away from there. Radu, however, petrified by fear, couldn't move. The trunk was heavy, and it cost Harry much of his energy to sustain the charm immobilizing it, so he decided for another, slightly riskier solution before it was too late. Checking the angle of the trunk again, he slightly repositioned his wand, intoning "_Stupefy_". The red beam smashed into Radu's chest, thrusting him out of harm's way, and in the very next second the trunk, not supported by magic any more, fell exactly on the same spot the young man had just vacated, stirring up a small tornado of dry leaves and wood splinters.

Painfully wincing, Radu stood, casting a quick look at the trunk that had almost become his death. His handsome face darkened, then with steady steps he walked up to Harry who was still holding his wand in his trembling hand, his lips pressed into a thin line. Measuring the young wizard from top to toe with his piercing glance, the future Elder reached out with his right hand in a peace-offering gesture, the other youngsters silently watching the small intermezzo.

"I behaved like an outright ass, and you still saved my life. Thank you, Harry. If you can forgive me for the things I'd just said, I'd be honoured to call you my friend."

"You're still a git," Harry muttered halfheartedly, but gladly accepted the hand, firmly shaking it, marking the beginning of a friendship stronger than life.


End file.
